


Something to Believe In

by FireflySummerwynd



Category: Poison (US Band)
Genre: Abuse, F/M, Glam Metal, hair metal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:42:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24472243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireflySummerwynd/pseuds/FireflySummerwynd
Relationships: Bobby Dall/Lyric Braxton





	1. Prologue

_October, 1990_

_Greensboro, North Carolina_

“Whew, that was one helluva show, boys!”

Known as the _Glam, Slam, Kings of Noise_ by just about everybody who’d ever heard of them, the hair Metal band Poison clambered off their bus like a litter of hyper puppies. They’d just played a show at the Greensboro Coliseum as part of the tour for their third and most recent album, _Flesh and Blood,_ which’d been released earlier that Summer. None of them were anywhere near ready for bed, considering it always took at least a couple hours–and sometimes a few too many beers and bottles of liquor–to wind down after a show. That was the very reason they’d just pulled up outside one of the nearby dive bars, considering they weren’t interested in anything overly fancy and their manager knew he’d never corral them on the bus otherwise.

“Damn straight it was, Bret,” drummer Rikki Rockett agreed with a hoot.

“I’m definitely not ready for the Night to End!” their lead guitarist, CC DeVille, declared. “Hell, the Night’s just getting started, if ya ask me!”

“I’ll drink to that!” the final member, bassist Bobby Dall, agreed.

“Then let’s get in there and light this bitch up while we’re gettin’ lit!” This was stated by the one who’d spoken to start with, front man Bret Michaels.

“Hey there, boys. What can I get y’all tonight?”

None of the guys could quite help drooling over the barmaid that’d just addressed them upon walking into the lil hole-in-the-wall establishment. They’d never exactly been picky over where they stuck their dicks–which was part of the reason why Bobby’d recently gone through a nasty breakup, but that was a different story for a different Time. What mattered at the present moment was that this chick was stick-thin, blonde, busty, and just overall smokin’ hot. Hopefully, her co-workers ticked off at least the majority, if not all of those boxes, too–that’d just be the icing on the cake for them.

After giving her the tall order of various drinks they wanted filled, the musical quartet–who hadn’t been recognized as of yet–sat back to scope out their prospects for the Night. None of them had any particular _type,_ as it were–again, they weren’t exactly picky over who they slept with. Granted, that didn’t mean they didn’t have traits each of them was attracted to more, but it wasn’t necessarily need-to-be-met requirements.

However, as the waitress was Returning with a couple of her co-workers, considering the amount of bottles they’d to bring to their table, none of them were expecting the Sound that met their ears. Each of their spines straightened a lil more as they turned to face the small stage they’d ignored at first, all their eyes wide with surprise. It wasn’t just that they’d suddenly heard a piano riff start up that’d caught their attention–it was that they recognized those first few notes. They’d have to be either incredibly wasted, particularly stupid, or a lil bit of both _not_ to recognize the intro to one of their own songs, no matter how old or new it was. Considering they’d just played it as part of their own setlist that Night woulda made it even harder to _not_ recognize.

Bobby’s attention was quickly riveted on the person seated at the keyboard he hadn’t bothered paying attention to earlier. Obviously a woman, if the ample chest was anything to go by, they’d a hat that seemed pretty similar to the one on his own head pulled down low over their face. He wasn’t too sure if that was ’cuz they were the shy type, to block out what lil bit of Light was shining on them, or a lil of both. What he _could_ tell for sure was that the woman seemed fairly petite–exactly how he liked his women, if he _were_ being picky–and appeared to have coloring similar to his own.

It was as a recording of the rest of the track, sans vocals, kicked up that he felt like his teeth’d just gotten kicked down his throat in all the best ways.


	2. One

Having been at work for a couple hours now, twenty-two-Year-old Lyric Braxton couldn’t help the mood she was currently in. Few aside from her boss knew the backstory of her Life, and she preferred keeping it that way more often than she didn’t. She wasn’t one of those who wanted to give a sob-story to whatever bartender happened to be serving her, unlike most of the fuckers that showed up in this particular dive bar Night after Night. But just ’cuz she didn’t wanna do that shit didn’t mean others didn’t, so she always offered up an open ear when she was tending the bar.

Unfortunately, ever since being offered a job when the bar’s owner’d seen how down on her Luck she was, she’d heard so many sob-stories, she was ready to scream. As tender-hearted as she was, a lotta those stories brought back memories she’d rather be drinking away, but didn’t have the money to without this job. When she’d heard enough of those kinda stories and needed a break from them, she usually wound up on the small stage to give at least a short performance.

Before being thrown out by her mother simply ’cuz she lacked a job–and therefore, a source of income–the young woman’d been a pretty talented musician. She could usually figure out at least two parts of some of her favorite songs, if given enough Time, were she able to get her hands on the required instrument. However, it was her voice that was her best and strongest instrument, something she’d known since around the Time she hit puberty ten Years ago. The thing that she’d really become aware of in the past few Years, though, was that her voice was far more powerful than she’d given herself credit for. While she’d an uncanny knack for being able to wind folks up with her voice, it was when she got to singing Power ballads that her talent _really_ showed itself.

Taking a deep breath as she settled at the keyboard that remained on the stage at all Times, Lyric prepared herself to unleash that very side of herself now. Ever since hearing it for the first Time after nabbing a copy of Poison’s new album earlier that Summer, the song _Something to Believe In_ tended to get stuck in her head more often than it didn’t. She could relate to it in a couple different ways, but the thing that few realized was that it dredge up memories and Emotions that often got buried. It was cathartic as all hell for her to listen to, but it was even more so when she actually got to singing it. As powerful as her voice was, she could throw fifty extra layers of Emotion into it that its recording artist prolly couldn’t have hoped to when they’d recorded it.

_“Well, I see him on the TV, preachin’ ’bout the promised Lands_ – _he tells me to believe in Jesus, and steals the money from my hands… Some say he was a good man_ – _Lord I think he sinned, yeah, yeah…”_ she sang roughly twenty seconds after starting the piano intro.

Katie, one of her co-workers, was hiding in the Shadowsta add a backing line during the chorus and outro, but that wouldn’t kick in for a while yet.

_“Twenty-two Years of mental tears, cries a suicidal Vietnam vet, who fought a losin’ War on a foreign Shore to find his country didn’t want him back,”_ the young woman continued, expertly ignoring the group of guys she’d seen turn around in their seatsta stare at her. _“Their bullets took his best friend in Saigon_ – _our lawyers took his wife, his kids, no regrets…in a Time I don’t remember, in a War he can’t forget… He cried,_ Forgive me for what I done there, ’cuz I never meant the things I did…and gimme somethin’ to believe in, if there’s a Lord above… Ah, gimme somethin’ to believe in–oh, Lord, arise…”

Lyric forced herself to bite back tears already at the memories that verse dredged up, and she knew it was only gonna get worse as she kept playing.

_“My best friend died a lonely man in some Palm Springs hotel room_ – _I got the call last Christmas Eve, and they told me the news,”_ she sang, practically drowning in her memories. _“I tried all Night not to break down and cry as the tears rolled down my face_ – _I felt so cold and empty, like a lost Soul outta place… And the mirror, mirror on the wall sees my smile_ – _it fades again!”_

Katie could tell this was a hard one for her friend and co-worker as she joined her again for that backing line, and she almost signaled for the Music to be killed. The only thing that stopped her was knowing that the young woman’d prolly smash a bottle over her head, if she dared. She was one of those few aside from their boss who knew the story of her Life, and just how cathartic Music could be for her. If she were to try stopping her once she was on a roll and letting out anything she’d pent up lately, she knew she’d have hell to pay for it later–and that was the last thing she wanted.

_“Sometimes I Wish to God I didn’t know now things I did know then! Road, ya gotta take me home,”_ Lyric sang.

Bobby was still more than a lil fascinated by the woman seated at that keyboard, her voice like that of an angel while weaving what he could only call a Siren song at the same Time. Not even his band mates’ voices’d ever gotten in his head quite like this, and they’d their moments when they could get in a person’s head with ease. He’d never heard anyone put this kinda Emotion into their singing before–even Bret hadn’t managed that with this particular song, or an earlier Power ballad they’d done.

Ignoring said band mates, the young bassist pushed himself up from his seat and headed for the small stage that was almost completely surrounded. As he slowly pushed his way through that small crowd, he almost felt as if he were completely spellbound and being pulled by an invisible rope tied around his waist. Or maybe a more apt description was that he was a piece of Metal being attracted by an extremely powerful magnet.

_“I drive by the homeless sleepin’ on a cold, Dark street, like bodies in an open grave…underneath the broken old neon sign that used to read_ Jesus saves,” she sang after the solo died away into just his own piano riff again.

Bobby continued ignoring his band mates as they yelled at him from across the room, unable to help a gasp that got drowned out by the Music when the young woman looked up and dead at him.

_“A mile away live the rich folks, and I see how they’re livin’ it up_ – _while the poor, they eat from hand-to-mouth, the rich drinkin’ from a Golden cup… And it just makes me wonder why so many lose, so few wiiiin! Ha!”_

He couldn’t help jumping slightly when she stomped her foot at the same Time she barked out that last word, but that didn’t drive him off. If anything, he was even more spellbound than before, ’cuz she’d somehow managed to inject even more Emotion than before into that final verse. Not only that, but he’d have been spellbound simply by the notes she was hitting, which were easily an octave higher than what his friend could hit. Hell, she mighta been hitting notes even higher than that, for all he knew. Being a musician by trade didn’t mean shit when his brain felt too foggy to think straight, and _not_ ’cuz of a mind-blowing orgasm.

A couple other voices joined hers seemingly from outta nowhere, ’cuz it wasn’t the recorded vocals of his band mates. No, these voices belonged to at least two other women, judging by the much-higher notes they, too were hitting. It took a few momentsta wrap his fuzzy head around, considering that he didn’t see any other women that coulda possibly been singing those backing lines with her.

_“Gimme somethin’ to believe in,”_ one sang, covering half the backing line that was mostly CC’s domain.

_“You take the high road, and I’ll take the low road,”_ the other added, this backing line being the one that was mostly his own.

Both hidden women repeated those lines almost to the End before they fell Silent about thirty seconds before the song’s End, leaving only the visible woman to continue.

_“Yeah, sometimes I Wish I didn’t know now things I did know then, yeah… And give me somethin’ to believe in, yeah, yeah.”_

The young woman momentarily bowed her head, hands still poised over the keys, as she let that last note die away. Bobby found he was frozen in place, as if he’d suddenly turned to Stone–till she pushed herself up from the bench she sat on. It seemed almost like she looked dead at him again as she walked off the stage, and only realizing she was about to walk out the front door made him move to follow her.

Part of him almost thought she was leaving and he’d never see her again, but it seemed that his Luck hadn’t run out for the Night. Standing out front, she leaned against the brick wall of the building with one foot braced against the brick pretty much holding her up. He continued ignoring his band mates, whom he saw getting up to chase even him out that door through the window. Talking to this girl for at least a few minutes was his top priority, whether it led to anything more than that or not. Sure, he’d kill to get her back on the bus and into his bunk, but that might just be where his Luck finally ran out when it came to her.

A most unladylike Curse met his ears seconds later, and he realized she was holding a pack of smokes in her left hand. From the look of things, they’d somehow gotten wet, which meant they wouldn’t do her any good till they dried out, if that was why she’d come out here. Bobby couldn’t help the smile that curved his lips as he reached into the pocket of his leather jacket, quick to realize he’d just stumbled across a way to earn some brownie points with her.

“Ya can have one of mine, if ya want it,” he said, careful to keep his voice down to avoid startling her too badly as he approached.

The young woman’s head snapped up, but he still couldn’t make out her features any better than he’d been able to in the bar.

“Or not–it’s up to you.”

“At this point, I don’t give a fuck if it’s laced with something else,” she sighed, taking the smoke he was holding out to her. “Thanks.”

“I gotta say, you’ve a killer voice,” Bobby said after lighting a smoke of his own. It was one of his two vices, and he’d no Luck in giving it up so far, no matter how many Times he tried.

“So I’ve heard a few Times,” the young woman told him, letting out her own first drag.

“Can’t say I’ve ever heard anyone who could throw that kinda Emotion into their voice, though,” the young bassist admitted, stepping a bit closer.

“It’s a personal talent, I guess ya could say.” She shrugged, one arm crossed under her breasts, but the action somehow wasn’t as nonchalant as she’d no doubt been going for.

“Might I ask what your name is?” There was a part of him that knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep till he knew, no matter how wasted he got.

“Lyric,” the young woman answered. “And no, it wasn’t always that, before ya ask, Mr. Dall.”

Bobby was a bit surprised when she actually referred to him by name, but somehow managed not to choke on the drag he’d been taking.

“What–didn’t expect me to call ya by name since we’re the only two out here?” she chuckled.

“Well, not really, whether we’re alone or surrounded by a crowd,” the young bassist answered, sounding a hair sheepish. “Then again, no one else’s recognized me since I walked in here, so…”

“I’d have to be about fifteen different kindsa special stupid _not_ to recognize one of the guys involved with the Creation of the song I just played,” Lyric laughed.

He couldn’t help a laugh of his own as he admitted that she’d a point, his smile only growing as they both bent down to shove their cigarette butts into the provided pot of Sand. That was when he couldn’t hold back the compliment on her playing that was bouncing around his brain, which was only now starting to come outta the Fog she’d put it in. It seemed she was a bit embarrassed by the compliment, ’cuz unless he was mistaken, her face seemed to take on what woulda been a pink hue, had it been better-lit out here.

“I mean, I know I’m not the best pianist on the Planet, but that actually almost outdid me,” Bobby chuckled as he offered her another smoke.

“Wait, that was _you_ playing piano on that song?” the young woman asked, surprised enough to pause in taking the offered smoke from him.

“Yeah, that was me,” he answered, that smile quickly morphing into a grin. “God knows the others can’t do shit on a piano but run their fingers down every single key.”

Lyric joined his laughter, and if he’d thought she’d the voice of an angel before, he was sadly mistaken.

“I just sat down and started plunking one Day ’cuz we were writing _Every Rose_ at the Time, but we didn’t have anyone to put on keyboards,” the young bassist revealed. “After that, I started fooling around with a keyboard at home, and it just snowballed from there.”

“Hey, better reason than I’ve got, for sure,” she told him. “That’s the only song I can actually play on piano, believe it or not.”

“Damn, really?” Bobby’s brows rose as he reached up to shove his hat up a bit.

Nodding, the young woman told him that she was actually better on bass than she was on piano, that admission bringing a decidedly Dark look over her features. He paused for a moment as he took another drag, but there was a part of him that eventually couldn’t help asking about that Dark look. Something told him it was a touchy subject for her, but he still felt like he _had_ to know and hoped she wouldn’t try to kick him in the nuts or something for asking.

He wasn’t expecting her to say that she’d to sell her bass and amplifier both recently, or she’d have wound up starving. Worse than that, she’d been homeless till her boss took pity on her and offered her not only her job here at the bar, but to stay in the apartment overhead with him. That made him wanna ask how that’d come about, but the same something that made him ask about her expression told him he needed to shut up now.

But Lyric was on a roll now, considering the flood gates that performing _Something to Believe In_ had opened while she was on that stage. She didn’t know if it was ’cuz of _who_ she was currently talking to or something else, but she couldn’t stop herself from baring all to him. If she’d to say she was thankful for anything besides an open ear to talk to that _didn’t_ belong to her boss or co-workers, it was that–for all that he was a rock star–this man actually seemed to care. Maybe he’d been through something similar that he kept well-hidden from the media, maybe he hadn’t–but she got the feeling he could be trusted with this.

“You’ve _gotta_ be fuckin’ shitting me,” Bobby finally said once she’d concluded her tale.

“I Wish I was,” she sighed, bending down to stub out that smoke.

“Ya know what?” The young bassist straightened from where he’d been leaning against the brick next to her. “C’mon–I’ve an idea.”

“Wait, what?” Lyric wasn’t too sure what to make of that.

“Look, I’m not gonna lie and say I wouldn’t kill to getcha in my bunk,” he chuckled. “But that’s not why I wantcha to come back to the bus with me right now.”

“And why should I believe that?” the young woman asked, a hip thrust out from resting her weight almost entirely on one leg and her arms crossed so her breasts were raised beautifully.

“’Cuz if I’ve my way about it, you’ll get the hell outta here,” Bobby answered.

“Uh, huh–somehow, I find that hard to believe, Mr. Dall,” she said, her words veritably dripping with sarcasm.

“Quit calling me _Mr. Dall_ –makes me feel thirty Years older than what I am,” the young bassist chuckled, even as he gently pressed a hand between her shoulder blades.

“Fine, then–I’ll just call ya _Asshat,”_ Lyric snarked, the grin now on her face belying any true malice.

“Bobby works just fine, sugar,” he told her. “Or better yet, go with Rob–I can’t stand being called _Bobby_ by anyone but my mom unless it pertainsta the band.”

Laughing as she agreed to call a truce on that, the young woman let him escort her to his band’s tour bus, both of them ignoring the remains of said band finally coming out front. Neither of them heard their commentsta one another about how he’d apparently found his _Lady of the Night,_ so to speak, and wanted to take advantage of having the busta himself for a bit. Both were simply too far away to catch more than a faint murmur, and they wouldn’t have bothered asking, even if they _had_ heard such murmurs.


	3. Two

By the Time he’d managed to talk his band’s manager into hiring this young woman as a merch girl before shows and to help cover his piano riffs where necessary, Bobby couldn’t say he wasn’t exhausted. It’d been a long Night for pretty much everyone, and it was now pushing two in the Morn, if he’d read his watch right. For all he knew, it mighta been even later than that–or maybe it simply felt like it was due to a recent lack of rest from being on tour.

Stepping back off the bus with said manager, Howie, the young woman tucked against his side, he made to head back into the bar. Lyric’d decided that working in the bar just wasn’t for her, but she hadn’t had any other choices before now, so she’d taken what she could get. With another, far better job offer practically slapping her in the face, she wasn’t about to turn it down when she wanted to get outta North Carolina, anywhore.

The young bassist continued expertly ignoring his band as they headed to the back office, where she knocked on the door. Moments later, said door was opened by the young man he could only assume was her boss, and if he wasn’t the actual owner of the joint, he was at least the manager. Either way, he was just the man they needed to talk to about her quitting, not to mention moving outta the apartment on the second floor. Hopefully, this guy’d be pretty understanding about the choice she was making, ’cuz he really didn’t feel like getting arrested again just for standing up for her.

“Hey there, Lyric,” he said. “Who’ve ya got with ya?”

Shaking her head, she refused to answer till they were locked in the office for privacy’s sake.

“Howie Hubberman,” the manager said, extending his hand for him.

“Mark Taylor,” he responded as he accepted the handshake. “I’m the owner of this place.”

“So Lyric was telling us,” Howie chuckled.

The bar owner cocked a brow at the lone woman, but there didn’t appear to be any malice in his eyes as he clearly bit back a smirk.

“So, I was made an offer I’d be fifteen different kindsa stupid to refuse,” she told him with a smirk. “Ya know what happens when ya bite me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah–ya turn into a full-on Tigress and try to take out chunks in Return,” Mark laughed, a grin finally breaking his face.

The entire Time, the young bassist merely kept his mouth shut, even as he watched him from under the brim of his hat.

“I’m guessing hitting the road with Poison’s paying a helluva lot better than being here at the bar, huh?” he asked, that grin never leaving his face.

Bobby’s face was the one to Change, as did his stance, although his surprised expression couldn’t be seen clearly.

“Man, I’d be as big an idiot, if I didn’t recognize ya as _she_ would for not taking whatever job you’ve offered her, as long as it ain’t prostitution,” the bar owner said.

“Well, at least I’ve managed to escape with only two people recognizing me so far,” he chuckled. “Dunno about the rest of my band, though.”

“Nah, they don’t seem to’ve been recognized,” Mark told him. “I’d like to think I’d have noticed a sudden increase in Insanity, if that was the case, even from back here.”

Unable to help momentarily laughing harder, the young bassist admitted that he definitely had a point with what he said. Due to being internationally famous, what with the release of their third album and the fame that came with the previous two, things woulda gone beyond nuts by now, if any of them’d been recognized by some of the rowdier fans. That wasn’t to say things woulda gotten completely outta had, but they certainly woulda been temporarily wilder than he was sure this bar was used to.

Steering the conversation to the reason they’d sought him out, Howie started laying out what they Intended to do. Lyric hadn’t given very many details of her Past, save that she’d fallen down on her Luck and this guy’d helped her out as much as he possibly could. After hearing her play earlier and their short conversation, Bobby felt the need to do even more, which was just the kinda guy he–and even his band mates–was. That being said, since they could stand having a pianist to help out with the shows, he’d decided to talk to his manager and find out how he could actually implement his idea. It’d taken a bit of convincing, but since they really needed that pianist and one of their merch folk’d just quit, it wouldn’t be that hard to do.

Mark appraised the young man he’d have sworn was gay at first glance, what with his long, Dark hair and almost effeminate looks. He made no bones about his opinion of him, saying that no matter what he was, he somehow got the feeling he was an inherently good guy. Not only that, but he could already tell he was highly attracted to the woman he’d taken under his wing–or at least, it appeared such. Appearances could be so misleading that he wasn’t exactly sure what to think, so he was more or less staying neutral for the moment since he wasn’t actually gonna ask.

“I can assure ya, I’m straight as a stripper pole when it’s upright,” Bobby laughed. “My own dick barely interests me most Days–or Nights, as it were–so why the hell would another man’s interest me?”

“Fair enough, man,” the bar owner agreed. “Can’t say I’m any different.”

“Neither can I, aside from an obvious gender difference,” Lyric said. “If my own tits and pussy bore me, why’s another woman’s gonna be entertaining?”

“Glad to know we’re on the same page there, sugar,” he chuckled.

“So, you’re absolutely sure about this?” Mark asked, turning his attention to her.

“Mark, ya know how bad I wanna get outta this Gods-forsaken State,” the young woman told him. “I’ve absolutely no reason to stay after that bitch threw me out and the rest of the family abandoned me.”

Howie looked surprised since she hadn’t told him that part, but apparently chose not to comment for now.

“I know, I know,” he sighed, giving her a somewhat sad smile as he moved to hug her. “I just hope _you_ know ya can come back here at any Time, if shit doesn’t work out the way you’re hoping.”

“Gods, I hope that doesn’t happen, so quit talking like that before ya make it Manifest on me,” she laughed, even as she Returned his hug.

“Go on up and get your stuff, then,” Mark told her. “I’d come up to give ya a hand, butcha know I gotta stay down here during business hours.”

“I think Bobby and Howie can help me well enough,” the young woman responded, turning to head outta the office.

Nodding, said young bassist and his manager both shook his hand before making to follow her back out to the main part of the bar. The rest of the band had finally gotten into their groove and were buzzing pretty good, so they didn’t even seem to notice them. Well, Bret apparently noticed, judging by how he perked up a bit, but he was just intoxicated enough that he prolly thought he was hallucinating or something. Course, he mighta very well been fucked-up on something else, given that he also did his fair share of drugging, too.

Following Lyric through the bar, they waited for her to collect her tips from that Night before she gestured for them to follow her. She led them out a back door, the alley along the side of the bar barely lit before she turned on a flashlight they assumed she’d grabbed from behind the bar. It was definitely the kinda place he _wouldn’t_ wanna be caught alone, whether he was a rock star or an average Joe, as Dark as it was back here.

Leading them up a wooden staircase, she paused on the balcony to pull a key ring outta her pocket so she could unlock the door they were faced with. The apartment she led them into was fairly quaint, but it was obvious that it’d been a bachelor pad longer than it hadn’t. What few feminine touches were visible weren’t very obvious, and they couldn’t been easily mistaken as leftovers from a former girlfriend. Hell, they coulda even been something akin to a collection of trophies from one-Night stands, which Bobby couldn’t say he wasn’t guilty of having, himself.

“I ain’t really got that much,” the young woman told them. “Either had to leave it behind when I got thrown out, or sell it at some point just to eat.”

“We kinda figured as much, based on whatcha told me on the bus,” Howie said.

Heading off to one of the two bedrooms in the place–which was no doubt only ’cuz the apartment spanned easily half the bar downstairs–she simply shrugged.

“So, what all’ve ya got?” Bobby asked.

“Basically just a handful of clothes and one thing I damn sure wasn’t getting rid of,” Lyric answered as she flipped the Light switch.

It took his eyes a few momentsta adjust to the sudden flare of Light, and he just barely kept his jaw up once he got a good look at her. He hadn’t been mistaken in thinking she was petite with coloring roughly the same as his own, but her hair was certainly far longer than what he’d originally thought. Easily as long as his own–which reached his nipples, give or take–maybe longer, it was every bit as brown as when he didn’t dye it. But the main difference was that hers was pin-straight, whereas his was Naturally wavy, which made it hard to do anything with unless he managed to use a curling iron to straighten it. His hair usually drove him nuttier than all three of his band mates combined, but that was a different story for a different Time.

“Ya so much as bang this into a wall, and I’ll cut your dick off and feed it to ya,” she said as she picked something up.

Once she’d turned around so he could see, he could tell it was a guitar case–and from the looks of it, a handmade one.

“My pappaw made this before he died,” the young woman told him. “The case I mean, not the guitar in it. But the guitar was his before his Death, too.”

“Well, shit,” Bobby said, unsure about taking it from her now. “It’s kinda flattering to be trusted with something like that, but at the same Time…”

“Ya don’t really trust yourself with it, not to mention wanna keep your dick, right?” the young woman chuckled.

“Well, _yeah,”_ he dead-panned. “I mean, I’m rather attached to it, and _it’s_ rather attached to _me.”_

Not even Howie could bite back a laugh as he set the case down outside her bedroom door, then moved to help her pack up her belongings.

“Lemme deal with the top drawer, myself,” Lyric told them. “’Cuz I swear, if ya start sniffing my under britches, I’ma make ya eat ’em.”

“Even if ya were wearing them and I was sniffing what was _under_ them?” The young bassist couldn’t resist taking a slight jab at her.

Her response wasta simply fling the pillow off her bed at him, which made him laugh when it beaned him in the face and knocked his hat off. Bobby managed to snag said hat off the floor and settle it back on his head before it wound up getting stepped on, which woulda pissed him off. Made of leather and with the Intent of kinda looking like a rock ‘n’ roll cowboy, it was actually one of his favorites, and he was as possessive over it as he was his gear.

Lyric’s few Earthly belongings were quickly packed up in whatever she could find, as far as plastic totes went since she didn’t have much else. All in all, she really had just enough that–between the three of them–it took only one trip to get it all down to the band’s tour bus. If it’d been just one of them, though, it prolly woulda taken three trips, but no more than that, if they couldn’t get both totes at once.

Down at said bus, they were quick to get the majority of her belongings stowed in the compartments under the bus. Her guitar was one thing she insisted on actually having where she could get to it, and considering what she’d told them about its history, the young bassist wasn’t about to argue. Besides, as long as she kept quiet, it’d give her something to do since she was bound to be up before the rest of them. If he were honest with himself, the last thing he wanted was for this woman to be bored while she was with them, considering that being stuck on the bus could definitely get boring sometimes. God only knew that happened to him and the rest of the guys often enough as it was, which was why they often got themselves into trouble.

Once those things were taken care of, Bobby pointed out whose bunk was whose so she’d know which one she’d her pick of. His was actually one of the bottom-most ones, despite his height, ’cuz he’d been one of the last picked up for this tour and all the good ones were already taken. As he knelt down to dig through his suitcase, he told her that she could wake him up, should she need anything that didn’t require stopping somewhere. She needed to be able to make herself as at-home as possible, considering that this _was_ her home for the Time being as much as it was the band’s.


	4. Three

Sometime shortly after Dawn–which she supposed woulda been considered their middle of the Night–Lyric found that she couldn’t sleep to save her Life. Even with ear plugs crammed in her earsta muffle the cacophony of snores from not just the band, but their manager and crew on top of it, she just couldn’t seem to fall asleep for shit. Then again, she supposed that all the snoring wasn’t exactly her biggest problem, and not even being a bit horny from being just across the aisle from the object of her attention really was, either.

Ever since she was a young teenager–right around the Time she’d hit puberty, to be precise–she’d suffered from some serious insomnia. While that’d gotten a bit better for her in recent Years, it tended to act up the worst when she was in strange surroundings. If she were to attempt putting a true name on it, she tended to go with _Spacial insomnia,_ considering the circumstances of when it happened.

Not only that, but these guys seemed to think the bus was a walk-in cooler or something, ’cuz it felt so cold to her–even with three of her favorite fuzzy blankets piled onto her–that her feet felt like Ice. That was another one of her biggest problems–that, even in familiar surroundings, she’d have insomnia out the ass, if her feet got the slightest bit cold. But since no one aside from the bassist and his manager even knew she was onboard right now, she hadn’t wanted to mention it to them. Despite that lone band member swearing that they’d to find a happy medium for her sooner or later, ’cuz this was now _her_ home as much as it was _theirs,_ she hadn’t wanted to do anything that might result in them being uncomfortable in said home.

Unable to stand her feet–not to mention a few other body parts–being so cold anymore, Lyric finally kicked her blankets off and quietly drew back her bunk’s curtain. Even though she’d been far from being asleep by the Time Howie’d managed to round up the rest of the guys, she’d closed said curtain so she could hide. She needed a bit of Time to process how her Luck’d suddenly gotten so much better, and simply ’cuz she’d decided to use a performance as a way to vent a bit.

Careful to keep quiet so she wouldn’t wake anyone else, the young woman dropped down to her knees in the floor of the aisle that cut through the bunk room. Bobby’d told her that his bunk was the bottom-most one on the left-hand side as one walked in the door of this particular room. He’d also told her not to be afraid of waking him up, if she needed something that didn’t require a pit stop that couldn’t wait till they’d been planning to stop, anywhore. Whether he was a bit of a Bear when he was woken too soon or not, he’d made it clear that he didn’t want her suffering in Silence, not after what she’d told him of her Past. There was a big difference between that and simply taking her Time to speak her mind, although he was willing to and capable of respecting when she did the latter.

Pulling his bunk curtain back as quietly and gently as she’d done to her own, she was glad that her Night vision was as good as it was. She couldn’t help the small smile that curved her lips as she revealed the young bassist’s feet from where he lay on his left side, said feet up where she considered the head of his bunk to be. Closing that End of the curtain, she moved down to the other End of the bunk and tried again, her smile growing as she actually revealed his sleeping face this Time.

Relaxed and actually looking more boyish than like a grown man, Bobby was somewhat curled up with one arm under his pillow. His other arm was positioned so that his other hand woulda been in front of his face like he was about to suck his thumb in his sleep, if it hadn’t also been under his pillow. Those Chocolate eyes she’d all but fallen in Love with the first Time she’d ever seen a picture of him as a teenager were closed, but flickering slightly under their lids. It was pretty obvious he was in that deep-sleep stage and Dreaming, although exactly _what_ he was Dreaming about, she couldn’t say. Those Dreams coulda been about anything from playing in one of his favorite places as a child to something dirty that was gonna leave his bunk a mess.

_“Hmmm-mmmph,”_ he hummed moments later.

Lyric paused in trying to crawl into his bunk with him as he squirmed, then cracked open his eyes.

“If your name isn’t Lyric, get the fuck outta my bunk,” the young bassist mumbled, his words slightly slurred from still being mostly asleep.

“Good thing my name _is_ Lyric, huh?” she chuckled, careful to keep her volume down.

_“Mmm,_ what’s up, sugar?” Bobby asked, pushing himself up onto one elbow a bit.

“Go back to sleep,” the young woman told him. “Can’t help that y’all seem to think this thing’s a giant refrigerator and I’m freezing.”

He couldn’t help a soft gasp as he felt her flesh, which really _was_ cold to the touch. “Jesus Christ, girl!”

“Like I said, _shhhh_ –go back to sleep,” Lyric told him, curling up once he’d scooted toward the back wall a bit more. “Maybe now, _I_ can get to sleep in the first place.”

_“Awww,_ sugar.” The young bassist yawned as he pulled his covers up over both of them, then wrapped an arm securely around her waist.

She couldn’t help a content hum as she settled down, even as she felt his half-hard crotch against her ass, due to his body heat already seeping into her.

“Sweet Dreams, sugar,” Bobby mumbled, gently nuzzling her hair as he settled back down.

_“Sogni dolci, bello,”_ the young woman responded, even as she reached for the hand he’d tucked innocently under her side.

The young bassist seemed a bit confused, not to mention surprised, when she managed to pull his hand out from under her side. Keeping her grip on his wrist gentle to avoid hurting him, Lyric pulled the appendage further up her torso till it was where she wanted it. He was even further surprised when she pushed herself up just enough for him to tuck it _back_ under her side, this Time so that he was cupping one of her breasts in his palm.

Bobby wasn’t too sure what to make of that, part of him wanting to show at least a lil bit of the Respect his beloved mama’d pounded into his head as a kid. When he tried to take his hand back so he could move it to where it’d been before, the young woman he was now spooning was quick to stop him. Her words were already slurring a bit as she told him that she wouldn’t have moved his hand, if she hadn’t wanted it there.

Even as she started to doze off for the first Time since before her last shift at the bar, she told him that if he _didn’t_ cup her breast like that, she’d wind up cupping it in her sleep, herself. It was a Comfort mechanism to her that often helped her sleep, ’cuz it wouldn’t be the first Time she’d woken up to such a thing. The main difference was that normally when it happened, she was in bed alone, so there was no one elseta actually do such a thing for her. Not only that, but she couldn’t quite cup either breast the way she really liked since her hands were significantly smaller, and she was certainly _Blessed in the bra,_ as she put it. He definitely couldn’t argue with that final assessment as he chuckled softly, but shrugged as he settled back down next to her.

Lyric didn’t take long to finally doze off once his body heat’d started seeping into her, the blankets almost making it feel like they were in an oven that hadn’t been turned up _too_ high. It was really just enough to be comfortable without making them wake up sweaty, as long as no hanky-panky got started in their sleep. The young bassist couldn’t help another small smile as he squirmed into a slightly comfier position, which left his leg draped over her hip and pinning her down. Part of him hoped that this was the start of something beautiful between them, but for right now, he was simply too tired to care since he hadn’t been asleep long. He sighed contently as he turned his head just enough to avoid eating her hair in his sleep, quick to doze off again, himself.

Later that afternoon, as the bus rolled up at the next venue they were playing–The Omni in Atlanta, Georgia–Rikki was the first of the band and crew to wake. He almost immediately let out a soft groan as his head throbbed mercilessly, which quickly brought back several memories from the Night before. While quite a bit was still foggy to him, he remembered heading to a lil dive bar after their show in Greensboro, where one of his band mates’ attention’d quickly been caught by a girl. Since that wasn’t exactly outside the norm, he wasn’t too surprised that he didn’t remember much else yet, which’d Change as he woke up more.

Tossing his covers off himself, he managed to somewhat literally fall outta his bunk without hurting himself or waking anyone else. Course, as drunk as he seemed to recall the other blondes of his band getting–one of them having also been amped on cocaine–he wasn’t surprised _they_ didn’t wake up. Judging by the soft groan he heard from one of the bunks, though, he was pretty sure that _somebody’d_ just heard him.

He wasn’t too sure if it was his final, lone brunette band mate, or if it was one of the crew members that was also asleep in the bunk room. Shrugging it off, he all but tiptoed back to the linen closet of a bathroom that was onboard, knowing damn good and well he couldn’t wait to take his turn. Whether they were already at their next venue or not, he simply had to piss too badly to bother wasting Time, if he didn’t feel like having to launder _something_ by Day’s End.

Upon stepping outta said tiny bathroom, Rikki noticed a guitar case he didn’t remember seeing on the bus just the Day previous. He knew damn good and well it didn’t belong to any of his band mates–none of them owned a handmade case that he was aware of. If they _did_ own such a thing, it wasn’t the kinda thing they’d have brought on a tour with them for Fear that it’d get wrecked at some point during the Chaos and Insanity. Kneeling down to get a closer look, he couldn’t tell what kinda Wood it was made from since he wasn’t exactly into that kinda thing, but he could certainly appreciate the craftsmanship that’d obviously gone into it. It was certainly a thing of Beauty, and it looked like whoever owned it took the utmost care of it so it’d stay that way.

“I wouldn’t mess with that, if I were you.”

Falling back flat on his ass, the drummer looked up to see his band’s manager in the bunk room doorway, no doubt to start waking the crew up. “Whose is it? I don’t remember seeing it even yesterday.”

“New crew member’s,” Howie chuckled, careful to keep his voice down. “And from what she said last Night, she’s incredibly possessive over it.”

“She?” His eyes widened in surprise as he pushed himself up to his feet. “How on Earth didja get a woman to agree to joining _this_ Insanity?”

“Ask Bobby that once they get up,” the manager laughed. “’Cuz he’s the Silver-tongued devil that started it.”

Rikki couldn’t help looking even more surprised as he glanced down at said brunette’s bunk–which he promptly heard a sleepy groan from. “What the–”

“Ah, leave him alone,” he told him as he patted his back. “Poor guy’s prolly about to make a mess of himself.”

“Got that right.”

The drummer couldn’t help jumping at the Sound of an unfamiliar, distinctly feminine voice, which was followed by the curtain of the bunk in question getting pulled back slightly.

“I’d get up from here and leave him to it, but I’ve kinda gotten myself trapped,” the voice’s owner snickered.

“Is that so, Lyric?” Howie chuckled.

“Well, I’m starting to think his arm’s actually a vice,” she retorted. “Even if it weren’t, his leg’s heavy, and I rather like my tits staying attached.”

“Wait, what?” Rikki was beyond confused, and this Morn’s hangover certainly wasn’t helping him.

“We’ll explain it once everyone’s up, but let’s just go with Bobby talking your manager into the best streak of Luck I’ve had in a while,” the young woman–apparently Lyric–answered. “And I got myself in a bit of a pickle by crawling into his bunk with him shortly after Dawn ’cuz I couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah, he’s definitely a cuddler when he’s asleep,” he chuckled. “Or maybe I should be saying he’s like an Octopus, ’cuz it’s hard to get him off ya once he’s latched on good.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Lyric laughed, her eyes widening as she let out a gasp seconds later. “Jeez, just wake yourself up already–this is a bit on the uncomfortable side!”

Rikki and their manager were forced to snort back raucous laughter, both of them smart and experienced enough to realize what’d just happened. If the young bassist wasn’t hard as a rock and pressing that distinctly masculine ridge against her ass, they’d eat their own foot for breakfast. Judging by the look of things, though, she was equally turned-on by the sensation–she was just being stubborn and not wanting to admit it. Neither knew whether that was ’cuz she wasn’t truly attracted to the man she was laying next to, or if she was and just refused to actually sleep with him at the moment.

Apparently having heard the conversation taking place outside their bunks, Bret and CC both pulled back their curtains and peeked out. Wide grins stretched their faces as they looked down and snickered, which just earned them two middle fingers from the young woman. Not only that, but it earned them an eye-roll as she minced no words in telling them to make an appointment to suck her left lady nut.

Moments later, a soft gasp rang out from the recesses of the bunk behind her, followed by a soft, but pleasured groan. Judging by how her eyes widened again and she seemed to shift slightly–although this Time, _not_ of her own accord–they could all guess what’d just happened. No doubt Bobby’d finally woken himself up by getting his rocks off, and he’d instinctively pulled her back against him more as he’d pressed himself forward. It was something none of the rest of them could say they weren’t guilty of at one point or another in their Lives, and they couldn’t help snickering again. Lyric simply rolled her eyes and flipped them off again, apparently deciding against trying to move just yet for whatever reason.

The rest of the band was quick to take their Morn potty breaks and at least drag on a pair of jeans before heading up to the front lounge. All three of them were content to let Howie rouse their bassist, if he didn’t get up on his own within the next few minutes. He could be quite the Bear when he wasn’t ready to get up, regardless of whether he tried to go back to sleep or not. Since this tour’d been going well thus far–if one didn’t count most of them being fed up with CC’s cocaine use, that is–they weren’t about to piss him off. Bobby was generally one of those quiet and pissed types till he finally got fed up, and when he exploded, it was far from pretty. He actually tended to scare them into wanting to run for the closest Hills–in this case, the Appalachian Mountains–and never come back when that happened.

Lyric gave him a few minutesta get with it a lil more–not to mention loosen his grip on her–before she even tried to get up. She wasn’t surprised when the young bassist all but whined as she extricated herself, which made her let out a soft laugh as she turned to more or less face him. Leaning down enough to gently kiss his forehead, she told him that not only did she need a potty break of her own, but it was prolly a good idea for him to rise and shine so he could get himself cleaned up.

She didn’t miss how his cheeks reddened in embarrassment as he finally realized how sticky his boxers were compared to when he’d gone to bed. However, she chose not to say anything as she headed off to that T-ninety bathroom to take her turn, leaving him to hide in his bunk for a few more minutes. The young woman wasn’t about to do anything to embarrass him, if she could help it, and she only hoped the same courtesy and Respect were Returned. But as she pulled on her own jeans and tank top that she’d grabbed on her way to the bathroom, she knew they’d a long Day ahead of them, and that she didn’t have Time to dwell on that right now.


	5. Four

“All right, I want all eyes front and Center now.”

Bret, Rikki, CC, and the rest of the crew turned their attention to the band’s manager, who was accompanied by their actual tour manager. The one they all noticed was currently missing was the band’s young bassist, who’d yet to emerge from the bunk room. Only the band knew about their new addition, who also hadn’t made an appearance from said room on the bus–or rather, the back lounge she’d locked herself in before the rest of the crew were woken up.

“What’s up, man?” Bobby’s tech, Robbie Crane, asked curiously.

“We’ve a new faceta introduce this Morn,” Howie answered.

Said new face was escorted outta the bunk room by the one who’d accidentally scouted it out, both of them letting out the drags they’d just taken from their smokes.

“This is Lyric,” he said, gently pulling her to stand so she was in front of both of them, but kinda Centered between them.

“A pleasure,” Lyric drawled as she looked around the small crowd.

“Damn, Bobby–got yourself one hot mama, didn’tcha?” CC laughed.

“Put a dick in it, DeVille,” the young woman snapped before anyone could take a breath, let alone open their mouths.

His piercing blue eyes widened as much as everyone else’s.

“Crew member, girlfriend to a band member, whatever–I’m more than a piece of meat to sheathe a dick in, and I expect to be treated as such,” she said, her own eyes roving over all of them. “Don’t believe me? Consult the knife under my pillow that’ll enjoy getting to skin and eat your dicks, if ya treat me otherwise.”

Even Bobby cupped himself protectively, clearly wondering if that meant said knife was currently in _his_ bunk or not.

“Where on Earth didja find this one, man?” This was asked by Bret’s tech, Jack Smith.

Chuckling as he managed to relax, the young bassist admitted that she’d caught his eye–not to mention his ear–when she’d played one of their songs at the bar last Night. The rest of his band’s eyes widened as they realized this was the same chick who’d essentially woven a spell around him without really trying to that he’d chased outside. But now they were confused about why on Earth that’d made him find a way to bring her on as one of their relatively small crew.

Lyric simply told them that she wasn’t gonna reveal _all_ of her Past–she didn’t know any of them well enough to feel _that_ comfortable, after all. But she made no bones about having been considerably down on her Luck, and she suspected he’d felt sorry for her once she’d told _him_. He didn’t bother trying to deny her suspicion, even though he _did_ turn a bit pink at being called out on it in front of everyone.

Bobby picked up the tale by saying that–if she was as quick a study as she claimed to be–she’d be far more invaluable than just being a merch girl. Robbie managed with playing his bass lines well enough when he was on piano, but it’d be better if he could just play them, himself. That, or if this young woman turned out to be able to play them just as well, given that she swore she was a bassist first, pianist second. It actually wasn’t too dissimilar from himself in his claim that he was a guitarist first, bassist second, and really didn’t play that much piano beyond a couple licks here and there.

“I’m every bit that quick a study, as ya put it,” she chuckled. “Gimme five minutes with Bret, and I’d prolly be able to convert his twelve-string riffsta sound relatively good on a six-string.”

“Damn, seriously?” said vocalist asked, looking surprised.

Giving him a sharp look, Lyric merely headed to the bunk room for a moment before Returning with the handmade guitar case Rikki’d seen earlier. “Fair warning–y’all fuckers break this case, or the guitar in it, and I’ma chop your dicks off, feed ’em to ya, and then break your heads.”

“All ya need to know’s that it’s her most highly-cherished possession,” Howie stepped in to say when CC’s tech, Chris Wilder, started to ask. “She doesn’t have much to her name, but that’s the one thing she’s told Bobby and I that she’d prostitute herself to keep.”

“And as picky as I am about lovers in the first place–well, let’s just say that, attracted as I am to him, even Bobby’d have a hard Time getting in my britches right now,” the young woman said as she unlocked the latches.

Said young bassist couldn’t help turning a Light shade of pink again, even though he was flattered by her words. “Glad to know I’m not the only one in that particular boat of misery, as it were.”

“Oh, shut up,” Lyric laughed as she pulled out her guitar. “Or need I remindja of how ya woke yourself up?”

“No, there’s no need for that,” he answered vehemently. He didn’t exactly want anyone knowing of which she spoke, unaware that his band already did.

Settling on the arm of the chair next to her, she looked dead at the vocalist and told him to name a song for her to try running through on a six-string. It was pretty clear that she meant one he normally played his rhythm riff on a twelve-string for, considering what she’d said before. Looking thoughtful as he nodded, he finally told her to run through _Every Rose,_ then see what she could do with _Something to Believe In_.

Returning the nod, the young woman settled her hands into the proper position before actually starting the song off with a sigh the same way it was on the studio version. Her playing was absolutely phenomenal, not sounding much different than said studio version, despite the difference in guitars. It actually managed to take Bobby by surprise, and he was the one who prolly shoulda been the _least_ surprised by her ability. After all, it was mostly _his_ ear that’d been caught by hearing his own piano riff in that Greensboro bar the Night previous, not anyone else’s.

Once she’d muted her strings, Lyric was forced to give herself a moment between songs, ’cuz this was another one of the most cathartic ones she knew. When Rikki reached out and gently grabbed her knee, quietly asking if she was all right, all she could do was nod since she’d choked up. He could tell by the glassy look in her eyes that she was fighting back tears, which was what made him actually get up to hug her. The young bassist was quick to realize something wasn’t quite right, although he could feel her Emotions like his own.

After Calming herself down, the young woman got herself back into a playing position, which was when she surprised all of them even further. She somehow managed to transpose the intro of _Something to Believe In_ so she could play the piano riff on guitar, which wasn’t something even CC could do. It certainly wasn’t made any easier since she was limited to only six strings, rather than having twelve like she woulda, if she’d swiped the vocalist’s guitar. But even after playing the lead guitarist’s first few notes, she dove into that rhythm riff like it was nothing for her to manage. She refrained from singing at the moment, ’cuz she knew she _would_ start crying, all the overnight Changes and how the song made her feel to Begin with considered.

“Damn, that really _did_ sound almost like Bret’s actual riff,” the drummer said after letting out a whistle.

“And didja _seriously_ play the Beginning of Bobby’s piano part on guitar?” the lead guitarist asked, looking more than a lil impressed.

“It’s called transposition,” Lyric chuckled, nodding. “It’s just a matter of knowing what tuning you’re in, and where each note is on your fret board.”

“Sounds like you’ve more musical Knowledge than you’re letting on,” Chris said thoughtfully.

“I used to play flute and piccolo in middle and high school,” she revealed, unable to help a grin. “So yeah, I know more than one’d first think about key _and_ Time signatures.”

“Wait, really?” Even Bobby looked surprised.

“Pretty easy to figure out there’s a few parts of your bass riff from that one that’re in two-four, not four-four.” The young woman carefully appraised him. “That, or the notes’re played as eighth notes, not quarter notes.”

“Damn, ya really _do_ know your shit,” he chuckled, stubbing out the smoke he’d still been working on.

“Then what key’re we usually playing in?” Bret asked, clearly wanting to test her a bit further.

“Not sure about whether it’s major or minor, but E-flat or D-sharp–whichever ya wanna call it since they’re the same thing,” Lyric told him.

“Major,” CC supplied with a chuckle of his own. “But yeah, that’s our usual key.”

“Easier for loud-mouth, here to hit the right notes,” the young bassist snickered, diving outta his reach when he tried to sock his arm. “Don’t forget that I can kick harder than _you_ can hit, man.”

“Well, I can safely say that he ain’t the only loud-mouth, if you’re gonna look at it like that,” she laughed. “I’m pretty vocal in my own right when I feel like it.”

“Oh, I’m sure–most women _are,”_ Rikki said, clearly biting back laughter.

Since he was still well within range, the young woman struck like a Snake when she popped him upside the back of his head for that one. Although she’d absolutely not plans of proving it, she admitted to being a screamer and so much more, but it wasn’t truly anyone’s business but her own. In addition to that, she made it clear that was the only crack at her gender she was letting _any_ of them get away with, and even then, she wasn’t really letting him get away with it since she’d obviously reprimanded him for it.

Nodding since they could already tell getting on her bad side was a really bad idea, the guys all agreed to lay off before she killed one of them. A sadistic grin crossed her face when she corrected them by saying she wouldn’t kill them–she’d just teach them what sounding was with one of Rikki’s drumsticks. Every single one of them looked confused when she said that, none of them knowing what she meant with her threat. The only thing she’d say was that she’d just threatened all their dicks with prolly one of the most painful things aside from chopping them off, which made them all cup themselves protectively again.

It wasn’t long before everyone was heading off to start setting up for Sound check, which gave her a lil Time to start teaching herself the keyboard part for _Every Rose_. She told them that all she really needed wasta hear it while she was in front of a keyboard, and she’d prolly have it figured out within a few minutes. Otherwise, she was willing to even jump in to help with setup for tonight’s show however she possibly could.

As it turned out, Lyric’s offer of helping out with setup wound up coming in handy, ’cuz they wound up needing someone to climb stage rigging to set up the Lights. For some reason, the venue hadn’t bothered with such a thing when they’d built the actual stage for this concert Season. However, none of the rest of the crew was light enough to do it without accidentally pulling something down and winding up hospitalized. And Howie wouldn’t let any of the band members, whether they knew what they were doing or not, since they were needed the most that Night. Shrugging since she was willing to put her money where her mouth was, she snatched up the first harness she could get her hands on. Once she was harnessed up, she got the rope she needed tied off to said harness before throwing the other End up and over the rigging overhead.

The young bassist felt more responsible for her than anyone, so he was the one to snatch up the other End of that rope once it came sailing back down. Wrapping it around the leather of his jacket sleeve and fingerless glove so he wouldn’t give himself rope burn, he hauled it taut before she could even start climbing. He couldn’t help the cheeky grin he shot her as he yelled across the stage that if she wound up getting hurt, he was gonna be right there with her. After all, he was the reason she was even here instead of back at that Greensboro bar, so he wasn’t gonna leave her to fend for herself. She couldn’t seem to form an argument to that, or maybe it was that she simply wasn’t in the mood, as she started climbing the stage rigging while he kept the rope taut.

But as he watched her climb, not even trying to hide appreciating the view that was currently over his head, Bobby found himself wanting to know what other Secrets she hid. While he might know a lil about her Past, he knew damn good and well there was more to her than what lil she’d revealed so far. She was more than a bit of an enigma, and that was prolly what caught his attention more than her slightly exotic looks.

Over the next couple weeks, Howie, the band, and the rest of the crew got to know their newest member a lil bit more every Day. She was a hard one to crack, but once they got her to start opening up, she’d tell certain ones select things about herself. Bobby was still the only band member to know for sure that her mother’d thrown her out a few months before they’d met, but even he didn’t know why. He was closer to finding out than anyone else, though, and he tried to respect her privacy while trying to get her to tell him.

Lyric wasn’t the only one who was opening up more, though, considering some of the shit she’d gotten the young bassist to tell her about himself in Return. As it turned out, their Pasts were actually a lot more similar than one’d think at first glance, which explained something else. It’d taken her a few Days, but she’d admitted that she was normally more attracted to blue-eyed blondes, particularly those of the Natural variety. Yet she’d been attracted to him the most right from the get-go, and she wouldn’t have necessarily said it was ’cuz–like Vince Neil with his own band–he stood out from his band mates by having the exact opposite coloring. That admission’d flattered him more than he already was, although he revealed that Bret and Rikki were actually Naturally as brunette as he was.

But the thing that prolly surprised Bobby more than anything was how many Morns–or rather, afternoons–he’d wake up to realize he wasn’t alone. Aside from that first Morn when she’d accidentally woken him up an hour or two after he’d fallen asleep, the young woman’d managed to join him in his bunk without waking him. If he’d woken in the slightest, it’d been no more than what he’d wake up to roll over on any given Night before meeting her before he fell right back to sleep. He never had any memory of her actually joining him, yet he kept waking up with a bunk mate when he knew he’d gone to bed alone.

When he finally called her out on it while they were alone one afternoon, she’d blushed hotly and seemed like she was gonna clam up at first. After a few moments, Lyric’d finally admitted that she got cold easily, but didn’t trust the others not to cross her personal boundaries, had she crawled into bed with one of them instead. He wasn’t expecting her to look up at him with what he’d have called award-winning puppy-Dog eyes–which he often got accused of having, himself–and beg him to keep his mouth shut. She didn’t want the others knowing what she was about to tell him, and exactly why was as much as Mystery as _what_ she was about to tell him.

“Now, what else’ve I told anyone else that you’ve entrusted me with?” the young bassist asked, unable to help his frown.

“This is incredibly personal to me,” she told him. “Like, not even my mother ever knew, personal.”

Bobby still frowned, even as he nodded while lighting a smoke while they relaxed in the back lounge of the bus since they were on their way from Huntsville, Alabama to Landover, Maryland for tomorrow’s show.

“The reason I don’t tend to trust guys very easily…” the young woman said, pausing to take a deep breath. “It’s not just that pretty much every Romantic relationship I’ve ever had went South long before it prolly shoulda.”

He wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he simply took another drag as he waited for her to continue.

“When I was seventeen, I–I–” Lyric’s expression turned downright haunted, even more so than when she talked about her mother. “Rob, I was raped.”

“What?” The young bassist choked on the drag he’d been letting out when he barked out the lone word.

She apparently couldn’t bring herself to repeat what she’d said, even though she reached over to clap him on the back.

“Aw, sugar,” Bobby finally choked out, abandoning his smoke in the ash tray on the small table in front of them. “No Wonder ya said even I’d have a hard Time getting in your britches a couple weeks ago.”

“It’s nothing personal, or about whether I like and am attracted to ya or not,” the young woman told him, even as he wrapped her in a Bear-hug. “I can’t help that–even five Years later–it still haunts me.”

“Don’tcha _ever_ be ashamed for that,” he told her, pulling back enough to look her in the eye. “Like just about any other rape victim, I’m sure it _wasn’t_ your fault.”

“One part _was,”_ Lyric retorted. “I didn’t _have_ to let myself go up to that particular ex’s room alone with him, and I damn well coulda insisted the door be left open or left, if he wouldn’t leave it open.”

The young bassist admitted that she’d a point there as he pulled her into his lap so that her hips were nestled between his thighs. He allowed her to turn so that her legs were draped over his left thigh, his grip on her loose enough to make it clear that she could get up and away from him whenever she wanted to. But even as he made it clear that while she’d a point in describing how much Control she had up to a certain point, she couldn’t Control everything. If there was anyone truly at fault for what’d happened to her, it was the guy who’d decided that forcing himself on her was the answer.

She surprised him by snuggling against his chest, her left arm wrapped around his back so she could basically pull herself closer. Her right arm remained free so she could still smoke once she’d snatched up the ash tray and settled it on the couch cushion between his knees so they could both reach it. Being a right-handed smoker, she tended to use her right hand more often than not like he did, but she’d occasionally use her left hand when she’d no other choices.

After giving it a few moments’ Thought, Bobby decided to entrust her with something he hadn’t even told his manager, let alone his band. Taking the last drag from that particular smoke before reaching out to stub it out, he told her that–if he were honest–he’d never really had any better Luck in the Romance department. Sure, he was attractive and charismatic enough to get laid pretty much whenever he wanted to–not that even _that’d_ been happening much lately–but it always felt like something’d been missing. He’d thought he’d finally found that missing piece when he’d met a girl named Mishy back in the Summer of 1987 shortly after the release of _Open Up_.

But it turned out that he couldn’t have been further from the Truth on that, which made him glad he’d decided _against_ getting a tattoo for Mishy. They’d started fighting almost from Day one, and things’d just gotten uglier and uglier as Time continued to wear on. If the sex between them was anything, it was either makeup sex after a particularly nasty fight, or nothing more than a hate-fuck.

“The part that I haven’t even told Howie…” He heaved a sigh before lighting yet another smoke. “Mishy’s pregnant.”

“And you’re sure it’s yours, given whatcha just told me?” Lyric asked.

“The Timing matches up too well,” the young bassist answered, nodding. “I’m observant enough that I can tell by how they act whether a woman’s–ahem, fertile or not. She was no doubt fertile on one of my trips back home before we killed off the _Open Up_ tour back in February and most likely woulda conceived then.”

The young woman hummed thoughtfully, letting out a drag of her own. “So, she hasn’t popped yet, so to speak?”

“She’s not due till the End of the month,” Bobby answered, shaking his head. “Course, that’s assuming he comes on Time.”

“A lil Bobby running around–what a mental image,” she chuckled, not realizing just how prophetic her words were.

“More than likely,” the young bassist agreed with a chuckle of his own. “If the boy’s anything like me, he’s gonna be a total wild child that’s constantly on the move.”

“I guess my question now–why haven’tcha told anyone?” Lyric asked. “I mean, it’s a pretty big event in your Life, whether it affects your career or not–which it most definitely will.”

Unable to bite back another sigh, he admitted that he was an incredibly private guy outside the band–which was part of why he seemed to Mysteriousta fans the World over. But he hadn’t wanted to admit that his relationship’d fallen apart about the Time they released their newest album and hit the road to start the tour. He certainly didn’t wanna admit that it was looking like his ex was gonna try to keep him from even getting visitation, let alone anything like even joint custody.

Bobby’s expression looked downright miserable at the Thought of never getting to see his own son, and knowing that he’d been abandoned by his own father like she’d been, she could understand why. The young woman knew without having to ask that he thought of his ex pulling such a bullshit move’d make it seem like he’d Intentionally abandoned the boy before his Birth, even though he hadn’t.

Shifting enough to wrap her arms around his neck once she’d stubbed out so she wouldn’t singe his hair, the young woman simply rested her head on his shoulder. He let out another sigh as he tightened his grip on her, his cheek now resting on her head as he killed off the smoke in his hand. Part of him was grateful for the Comfort she was trying to offer him, even though he knew it couldn’t be easy for her as a former rape victim. No doubt allowing herself to open up like that was just as painful as how he’d just opened up, but it was clear that she was trying to push that aside for his sake. That just made him push his own problems aside for a moment, content to just have her in his arms and snuggled against him.

For the rest of the ride to the hotel they were staying in for the Night, Bobby and Lyric were content to just hide in the back lounge. They kept the door closed and locked unless they heard the band’s manager on the other side, and even then, he’d to really need something from one of them for them to get up and open it. Neither really wanted to be around the rest of the guys for the moment, mostly ’cuz they were all drinking again. Assured that the pair were alive and just enjoying some quiet Time, he was quick to leave them to their own devices since they clearly weren’t causing trouble.


	6. Five

Just over a month later, the band was off the road for about three weeks for a holiday break they were all in desperate need of. CC’s cocaine addiction was driving them all–even the crew–absolutely bat-shit insane, but short of canceling the tour and forcing him into rehab, there wasn’t much they could do about it. Either he’d have to get clean ’cuz he actually wanted to, or they’d just have to keep going till it killed him and hope they could find somebody to replace him, if they wanted to try to move on as a band.

Bobby wasn’t really doing much better when it came to giving in to the Temptation of his vices–or rather, the one vice aside from smoking. It was edging on two weeks past his ex-girlfriend’s due date, and he hadn’t heard anything about whether his son’d been born or not. For all he knew, there’d been a complicated delivery that the infant hadn’t survived, but nobody’d wanted to tell him so they wouldn’t send him on a downward spiral into depression. What nobody aside from Lyric realized was that the _not_ knowing anything was driving him even crazier than actually knowing, and therefore into hitting the bottle–hard.

Three Days after that final show at the Chelsea Studios in New York City before that break started, the phone at his So Cal home finally rang. Having nowhere elseta go, the young woman’d decided to move in with him when they weren’t on the road, at least till she saved up enough for a place of her own. Well, that was assuming they didn’t get into a relationship that actually worked out for both of them, but that was different story.

Given that she was already up, whereas the young bassist was still sleeping off yet another long Night of hitting the bottle, she was the one to answer when the phone rang. She figured that it was Howie or one of the guys, wanting to check in on him since they knew he hadn’t been doing too well when they’d split for their holiday break. Clearly, even when they were on each other’s last nerve and ready to strangle one another, they still cared about their band mates. To that End, Lyric wasn’t expecting to hear what she did after she’d given the typical, cursory _Hello?_ the second the receiver was pressed to her ear.

_“My name’s Lita Ricketts_ – _I’ma social worker in Los Angeles County,”_ the feminine voice that answered her said. _“I’m looking for a Mr. Robert Kuykendall.”_

Lyric’s eyes widened as she almost instantly realized why such a person’d be calling him. “Can ya gimme a number thatcha can be reached at? I’m afraid he hasn’t gotten up for the Day, and I don’t wanna keep a phone line tied up when it could be a while before I manage to get him awake and coherent.”

Laughing, she gave her the phone number straight to her office so she wouldn’t have to worry about an extension or anything.

“I’ll see what I can do about having him give ya a call back shortly,” the young woman told her after rattling off the number back to her to make sure she’d written it down right.

_“Take your Time,”_ Lita told her. _“I understand that Mr. Kuykendall’s recently been outta town on business, so he’s prolly still catching up on lost rest.”_

“Yeah, something like that,” she chuckled. She wasn’t about to tell this woman why he was really still asleep, knowing she was the wrong person to be making an announcement like that to.

Quick to End the phone call, Lyric gently laid the receiver back in the cradle before taking a deep breath and turned to head for foyer. Heading up those Marble stairs that curved to the right as one went up them, she knew damn good and well that whatever that woman’d wanted, it involved Bobby’s son. Not only that, but whether it involved him at least getting visitation, if not joint custody of him, it was gonna Change his Life forever. She just hoped that finally hearing something convinced him that drinking himself to Death wasn’t worth it, ’cuz he was well on the road to doing just that.

Upstairs in the master suite, Bobby was definitely still knocked out from yet another Night of heavy drinking that hadn’t Ended very prettily. He’d wound up making himself so sick that he’d spent prolly half the Night in the Water closet of the half of the master bathroom that branched off to the right when one was facing his balcony door. It’d felt so hot in the houseta him that the Stone tile lining the floor’d felt good–for all of ten minutes, it seemed.

Once he’d felt like he was freezing–despite his lack of shivering–not to mention wasn’t dry-heaving every five minutes at the very least, he’d finally managed to haul himself to bed. Since he didn’t wanna make a mess of his bedroom, he’d dragged his lil trash can next to the bed with him, and that also served the purpose of not having to waste Energy he just didn’t have to try and get back up.

But now, as the Sun rose high above the horizon so that it normally woulda been blinding as it shone through the balcony doors, the young bassist didn’t even notice. As far as his body was concerned, especially since both bathroom doors were closed and the blackout curtains drawn over those balcony doors, it was still Nighttime. In fact, he didn’t even hear Lyric enter what they both considered his private domain, nor would he’ve seen her in the Darkness. The fact that he’d somehow pulled his hair over his face almost like a blanket or another curtain certainly wouldn’t have helped him see, if he’d even been awake in the first place.

_“Roooob.”_

Bobby grunted as he felt a chilly hand on his upper back, not to mention the mattress dip beside him.

“Rob, wakey wakey–Eggs and bakey,” the young woman chuckled.

“Don’t wanna,” he grumbled, barely readjusting his limbs. “Sleepin’ good– _finally.”_

“Well, that’s your fault for drinkin’ like liquor’s going outta style,” Lyric chuckled. “But you’ve a call to Return, so Time to get up.”

“The guys can kiss my ass,” the young bassist growled. “So can Howie, for that matter.”

“Wasn’t any of them,” she assured him. “Now, c’mon and get up so we can getcha in the shower. I’m not sure what’s makin’ ya stink worse–the booze, or the BO.”

“Woman, just lea’meh ’lone,” Bobby snapped, trying to bury his head under his pillow.

“Fine, I’ll just go call Lita back and tell her ya _don’t_ wanna talk to her, after all.” The young woman shrugged as she made to get up.

“Wait, what?” He looked confused as he finally shoved his hair outta his face.

“All I know for sure’s that it was a woman, and she introduced herself as Lita,” Lyric said. She wasn’t about to tell him it was a social worker who’d called, and that she suspected the call’d been about the unborn son he’d mentioned a few weeks ago.

“All right, all right–I’m up, I’m up,” the young bassist grumbled, finally pushing himself upright.

She was quick to help him find his balance when he swayed, even before he’d tossed his legs over the edge of his bed. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he was hungover ten waysta Sun’s Day, which was part of why she wanted him to shower. Not only would it make him smell better and look at least a _lil_ more presentable, should he’ve to take a bit of a field trip soon, but she knew it’d help him feel a lil better, too. While it might not do much beyond getting him warm again in that department, she knew it was a start down that road all the same.

Bobby let the young woman help him into the half of the master bathroom that branched off to the _left_ of those balcony doors once he was on his feet. The shower in there was not only easily three or four Times as big as the one in the other half of the master bathroom, but also had a built-in bench. He wasn’t entirely sure he could manage a shower without falling right now, as dizzy as he felt from his pounding head.

In said half of the bathroom, Lyric made him perch on the edge of the tub right outside the massive shower where he could lean against the wall. Part of her wanted to smack him for getting himself into this kinda state with his constant drinking, but at the same Time, another part totally understood his reasons why. If he was half as stressed between his band and worrying about his unborn son as she thought he was, she’d no doubt it’d take hearing _some_ kinda news about that son to get him straightened out. After all, she’d have been tempted to drink just as heavily immediately after getting thrown out by her mother, if she’d been able to afford it–or had wanted to take her chances with stealing liquor.

Once he was in the shower a few minutes later, the young bassist let out a rather positive-sounding groan as he settled on the bench. The one showerhead he kept aimed right at it almost constantly sprayed Water over him that’d prolly leave his flesh pink without even having to scrub it. He was content to just sit there and enjoy it for a few minutes, but suddenly feeling hands on the top of his head made his eyes fly open. But the sight he was greeted with–a nice-sized pair of breasts capped with rosy nipples that’d pebbled from a draft–made his mouth simultaneously go dry and drench itself in saliva.

“Lyric–” Bobby started, cutting himself off to swallow the mouthful of spit that’d formed.

“Don’t argue with me,” the young woman told him. “But touch me without permission, and watch how quick I rip your dick off.”

He wasn’t quite sure _what_ to say to that as he felt her nails gently scratching his scalp, which was more than a bit of a turn-on for him.

“I don’t really care if ya look and enjoy the view–Gods know I’m guilty of doing the same sometimes,” Lyric chuckled. “But we don’t have the Time for a romp, even if I _did_ want one, if you’re ever gonna Return that call.”

“Ya seem so insistent on that,” the young bassist managed to chuckle, despite the hypnotizing sway of her breasts right in his face.

“Don’t ask me why, but I’ve that feeling I can’t explain again,” she told him. “There’s something more to that woman wanting to talk to ya, and I know it.”

“What makes ya think that, though?” Bobby closed his eyes as she grabbed the handheld showerhead to rinse his hair once she’d given it a good scrubbing.

“Well, she sounded _waaaay_ too formal for a past lover wanting to hook up again,” the young woman said. “I mean, who the fuck actually calls ya _Robert Kuykendall?”_

That caught his attention and made his eyes fly open. “Wait, seriously? And fuck–I shouldn’t have done that!”

“You’re supposed to keep your eyes closed, ya nut,” Lyric laughed, hosing his face down to help him rinse the shampoo outta his eyes. “And yeah, seriously. The woman said–and I quote– _I’m looking for a Mr. Robert Kuykendall.”_

“Pretty much _nobody_ –not even Mama–uses my full first name,” the young bassist admitted. “And hardly anyone can even pronounce my surname. That and just wanting my privacy outside the band’s why I shortened it to the last syllable and ran with that instead.”

“Not to mention _Dall_ sounds a helluva lot more rock ‘n’ roll than _Kuykendall,”_ she told him.

“Yeah, that, too,” Bobby chuckled. “I just figured that shoulda been a given instead of something I actually _had_ to say.”

“Well, if _you’re_ not gonna, _somebody_ hasta, so it might as well be me,” the young woman retorted with a cheeky grin.

Unable to help a laugh as he playfully swatted off her fussy hands, now that he was more awake and not quite as dizzy, he snatched up his own conditioner bottle. He shot her a look as he squirted part of the thick, almost creamy contents into his hand that if he wasn’t allowed to touch her right now, _she_ wasn’t allowed to touch _him_. That was a good way to get themselves caught up in something she apparently had no interest in at the moment, and he couldn’t guarantee he could Control himself, if she did more than just wash his hair.

Holding her hands up in Silent surrender, Lyric moved back to the other side of the shower so she could hang the showerhead she was using back on the wall. She completely understood what he meant, ’cuz she felt the same way, considering her almost magnetic attraction to him. If she were to let him so much as hug her under the current circumstances, she couldn’t guarantee they wouldn’t wind up in bed instead of downstairs.

Once they’d gotten themselves cleaned up, dried off, and dressed, Bobby couldn’t really deny that he felt at least a lil better. He was still gonna need to take something for his throbbing head, even though it wasn’t throbbing _quite_ as bad as when she’d first woken him up. As it stood, he didn’t exactly wanna face any bright Lights without sunglasses on, even while he was still inside. But that was another thing this young woman understood about him well–even though she usually wasn’t hungover when it happened to her, she still knew the pain of a rip-roaring migraine and didn’t try to push him beyond his limits unless she _had_ to.

“Don’t argue with me,” she told him once they were down in the kitchen, where she thumped a mug of black coffee and dry toast down in front of him.

“Ugh, don’t really feel like eating right now,” the young bassist tried to argue.

“Better to go with toast than nothing since I’m sure you’re still nauseous,” Lyric said, an abnormally Sage tone to her voice. “It’ll help soak up any alcohol still left in your stomach, which’ll help with the hangover.”

“How can ya be sure about that?” He cocked a brow as he downed the pills she put in his hand seconds later.

“’Cuz an ex told me to go with that or just untoasted bread one Time, and it actually worked,” the young woman chuckled. “I know male and female bodies process alcohol differently, but it’s worth a shot, if ya ask me.”

“Eh, fair enough,” Bobby acquiesced, even though he still wasn’t too sure.

“Besides, let’s think hypothetically for a minute here.” She glanced over at where she’d settled him on a bar stool on the far side of the island as she made her own coffee. “When ya get in touch with that woman from earlier, let’s assume it’s about your unborn son. Do ya _really_ wanna potentially have to go to her office to talk about that in person and be hungover, up to and including puking in her trash can?”

The young bassist’s eyes widened as he shook his head, although not rapidly enough to make his World spin again. “Fuck, no.”

“All right, then–should I be right in that suspicion, it’s bestcha eat _something,_ even if it’s just toast,” Lyric told him.

“Ya know, I’m starting to think I wouldn’t know what to do withoutcha,” he chuckled.

The young woman couldn’t help a knowing smirk as she laced her sugared-up coffee with half-and-half, which was quickly stowed back in the left half of the fridge next to her. As much as he no doubt drank and otherwise got into trouble before he’d met her, she’d have to agree with his assessment. But now that he’d a woman willing to work with him–even if they never went any further than friends–he prolly _wouldn’t_ know what to do with or how to take care of himself, were she to leave again.

Once he’d finished his small breakfast–which he definitely had to admit _did_ make him feel marginally better–she slid the scrap of paper she’d written that phone number down on across the counter to him. Careful not to stumble, fall, and hurt himself, Bobby took in the name scribbled just beneath the phone number as he headed over to the counter by the patio door. He definitely couldn’t recall having ever met a _Lita Ricketts_ as he picked up the receiver of the phone sitting on that counter, although it _was_ possible. After all, he met a lotta folks he never learned the names of while touring, so he didn’t think it was completely infeasible.

Waiting for someone to answer on the other End of the line, the young bassist couldn’t help his Anxiety ratcheting up a bit. What if Lyric was right, and this woman _was_ calling to finally let him know something– _anything_ –about his unborn son earlier? Everything from the boy’d finally been born safe and sound to a traumatic delivery he _didn’t_ survive coulda happened, and that was what scared him.

“Uh, hi–my name’s Rob Kuykendall,” he said once he finally heard a woman’s voice. “I’m Returning the call of a Lita Ricketts.”

_“Ah, Mr. Kuykendall_ – _what I’m assuming is your sister said she’d have ya Return my call as soon as she could,”_ the woman chuckled.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Bobby told her. “Been on a crazy schedule with work, and even though I don’t have to leave again till the Day before New Year’s Eve, it takes a bit for me to get used to being awake during the Day again.”

_“Not a problem,”_ Lita responded. _“Listen, I’ma social worker with Los Angeles County, and I was calling about your son.”_

The young bassist almost felt like Time suddenly stood still as he realized that Lyric’s suspicion’d been right, and he Silently prayed he was about to hear what he wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I finally ran into some Writer's Block on my insanely-long rewrite of _Chance Meeting._ Since I've been neglecting this story for the last couple weeks in favor of that, I figured I'd switch back and see what popped into my brain for this one. Who knows how long that'll last, but I'ma run with it while it's here and see what happens.
> 
> Anywhore, here's a link to the house that's supposed to be Bobby's in this particular story. Maybe it's a lil big for a single guy who was living alone before he met Lyric, and definitely ritzier than what strikes me as Bobby's style in Reality, but this is the one that caught my eye and screamed that it was _just him._ LOL!  
> ~Firefly
> 
> Link to Bobby's House–https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/14155-Beresford-Rd-Beverly-Hills-CA-90210/19987291_zpid/?


	7. Six

An hour later, Bobby sat in the office of the social worker he’d briefly talked to on the phone, unable to help bouncing his knee. It wouldn’t have taken even an hour to get here, were it not for the snarled traffic of the Greater Los Angeles area, which was fairly typical, especially on a Moon’s Day. But that hour’s drive and getting stuck in traffic’d allowed more than enough Time for his Anxiety to Sky-rocket even higher than it already was, which was why he was glad his new friend was sitting next to him.

Lyric reached over to grab his hand as they waited for the social worker to Return from whatever part of the building she’d disappeared to after asking them to give her a moment. She knew that if she didn’t do something to Calm him down, this might just go South quicker than either of them could blink. After all, if this was about him getting even visitation, being too anxious might paint him as a man unable to handle fatherhood.

But before she could really put a talent of hers she hadn’t told him about to work, Lita’s office door opened again to reveal the woman in question. However, she wasn’t alone, considering she’d a lil, blue-wrapped bundle cradled to her breast, a diaper bag hanging from the opposite shoulder. Neither of them were stupid enough to assume she was holding anyone _but_ the young bassist’s son, which was more than a bit of a relief to him as that part actually registered. After that’d registered, the part that dumbfounded and terrified him all at once was what her bringing him and his diaper bag in like this could actually mean for him.

“He doesn’t have a name yet, but this is your son,” she said, closing her office door behind her.

“Wait, what?” Bobby’s eyes widened, even though her words just confirmed what he’d already known.

 _“Awww,_ he’s adorable,” the young woman at his side said, having risen to get a better look. “There’s definitely no denying that he belongsta Rob.”

He wasn’t too sure what that was supposed to mean, even as her taking the bundle so it was cradled in her left arm surprised him even further.

“If he doesn’t already look like a lil clone of ya, I’ll eat my own foot,” Lyric giggled as she turned to him.

The young bassist couldn’t help the Awe that suddenly overcame his face as she moved to let him get a good look at the infant she held. “He looks _just like_ my baby pictures,” he breathed.

Using her free hand, she made him bring his arms up so that they were more or less positioned the same way as her own, which startled him.

“Relax, Mr. Kuykendall–you’re not gonna hurt him unless ya drop him, so long as ya keep his head and neck supported,” the social worker chuckled.

“But I–” Bobby wasn’t quite sure he _wanted_ to hold this lil Creature, even though he’d obviously helped make him, but wasn’t exactly given a choice in the matter.

“Men–they always think they’re gonna break a baby just by breathing on ’em,” his friend laughed, careful to keep her voice down.

“That, they do,” Lita agreed with a soft laugh of her own.

His eyes were still wide, his body a bit stiff from being uncomfortable with holding his son, as he stared down at his tiny, sleeping face. Considering the career he’d chosen to go into, he wasn’t too sure he was actually cut out for fatherhood, especially after his own father’d abandoned him as a baby. What if he wound up making the same mistakes, or worse–getting his son taken from him, or causing the infant’s Death?

But when the boy’s lil eyes peeled open to reveal Orbs the same shade of Chocolate as his own, Bobby couldn’t help feeling like his heart suddenly melted. Staring into those lil eyes–which seemed to stare up into his own as if boring straight into his very Soul–was more than a lil Awe-Inspiring for him. Feeling one of the boy’s tiny hands reach up and grab the tip of the braid Lyric’d managed to contain his hair in was another surprise, but he couldn’t necessarily say it was a bad one. It somehow seemed as if that simple action formed an irrevocable bond between father and son, one that’d never be broken till Death parted them.

 _“Annnnd_ there he goes,” his friend chuckled.

“I’d say he’s feeling it now,” Lita agreed with a chuckle of her own. “That bond between parent and child that’ll make a parent lay down their very Lives for their children.”

“Now I honestly don’t wanna let him go,” the young bassist admitted, glad his hair–even braided–was long enough to keep a hank from getting ripped out when he lifted his head. “But at the same Time, I just don’t think I’m cut out for fatherhood.”

“And why’s that?” she asked, cocking a brow curiously. As the woman in charge of this lil guy’s case, this was something she needed to know about.

“Long story short, Rob was abandoned by his own father as a baby the same way I was,” Lyric spoke up. “He told me when he mentioned his ex was pregnant a few weeks ago that he’s terrified of making the same mistakes.”

“Well, that’s pretty much a Natural Fear for just about anyone,” the social worker said.

“Being in a band that’s currently on tour doesn’t help that,” he sighed. “I mean, how the hell am I supposed to raise a baby on a tour bus full of drunks, at least one of which’s high on coke all the Time?”

Her eyes widened in surprise when he revealed that part.

“And even if they _weren’t_ drunks and stoners, again–how am I supposed to raise a kid on the road?” Bobby asked. “I’m not even too sure I can do it alone here at home.”

“Ya wouldn’t be alone, ya nut,” the young woman he’d taken on dead-panned as she crossed her arms.

“Lyric, I can’t ask that of ya,” he tried to protest, quickly snapping his mouth shut at the hard look she gave him.

Lyric made it quite clear that he wasn’t asking, she was offering–and there was a massive difference between the two. No, she didn’t have to take on the mammoth task of helping him raise his son since she’d no involvement in his Creation. But at the same Time, the young bassist hadn’t had to take _her_ on as a merch girl, temporary band mate, and now roommate just ’cuz she was homeless, either. Even if she couldn’t repay him any other way, helping him with his infant son–whether she was ever considered his mother or not–since she’d at least a lil prior experience with babysitting was the least she could do. It might take Time for even her to figure out a lotta what went into parenting, but he could learn from her and they could learn what even _she_ didn’t already know together.

Bobby bit his lip as he thought about that, still uncertain as to whether even having the help of this young woman’d be enough. He hadn’t even set up a nursery for the boy at his house since he’d thought his ex was gonna try to keep him from getting even visitation, for the Love of Christ! Without something as fundamental as a nursery set up for him, how the hell was he supposed to catch on to raising a child, even _with_ help? There was no way he could do this, and he was honestly terrified of even trying so he wouldn’t fuck up already.

The look his friend shot him made him realize that he was headed for trouble, if he kept thinking like that, and he honestly couldn’t help an audible gulp. Looking him dead in the eye, the young woman told him to think back on not even a decade ago, and how he’d felt then. Poison’d just barely been making the rounds of the club circuit back in the Harrisburg, Penn area–although under the name Paris–and they’d wanted far more. Hadn’t he been terrified of leaving behind all he knew and loved–including his mom and siblings–so he could move clean across the country and essentially start over? Surely, there was no way such a daunting Thought and mammoth task hadn’t struck at least a lil bit of Fear into his heart back then.

Gulping again, the young bassist admitted that he’d definitely been terrified, as had the rest of the guys–even the guy CC’d replaced in 1984. But this was totally different, ’cuz back then, he’d been making choices that’d either benefit or wreak havoc on his own Life. Now, they were talking about the Life of a helpless, defenseless infant that relied solely on him–and anyone like her willing to lend a hand. There was a big difference between doing something stupid that’d get him arrested and make someone have to bail him out versus that _plus_ knowing it might get his son taken from him.

“So, quit making stupid choices like the heavy drinking, andja won’t have that problem,” Lyric told him. “There’s a way to get that same rush onstage _without_ abusing various substances.”

He started to make a smart remark to that, but her continued hard look made him keep his mouth shut.

“After the shit _I’ve_ been through, ya think it’s any easier for me to deal with it sometimes?” the young woman asked. “No, and bottling it up doesn’t help–hence why I use songs like _Something to Believe In_ as a cathartic release.”

“Wait, really?” Bobby asked, gently readjusting his son since his arm was starting to get sore.

“I’m serious.” She nodded as she helped him shift the baby into his other arm. “Doing that gives me the same release as drinkin’ myself stupid, just without the negative physical side effects.”

The young bassist hadn’t thought about it like that before, but maybe she was right.

“Besides, do ya _really_ wanna make him grow up with the same questions as _we’ve_ to ponder now?” Lyric asked. “All the _what-ifs,_ and _why-didn’t-Daddy-love-me-enough-to-stays?”_

“Fuck, no,” he spat, sounding almost as if the words were acid burning his tongue. “Ya know I don’t _ever_ wanna do that!”

“Then don’t even _think_ of turning this boy back over to Lita for a bullshit reason, or so help me Goddess, I’ll knock _both_ your heads into the second Týr’s Day of next week!” the young woman warned him.

Bobby couldn’t help a slight flinch at her tone, which just made his grip on his son tighten a bit, since he knew she was dead serious when she actually threatened Violence.

Seeing that he’d a woman both willing to help with the rearing of his son _and_ whip him into shape–even if she’d to use parts of his own Past against him–Lita was quick to get their attention on the paperwork aspect. Not only did the boy still need a name, but his Birth certificate still needed at least his father’s signature before he could actually be put into his custody. The woman admitted that social services’d prefer to see a _mother’s_ signature on there, too, but they were also more concerned with the infant’s welfare than that.

The young bassist sighed as he said that his ex’d always liked the name Zachary Brandon, but he wasn’t too sure he wanted to go with that. He’d the feeling that he was getting full custody for a reason, and he didn’t exactly wanna Curse him with a name picked by the woman that’d apparently abandoned him. What he didn’t realize just yet was that Mishy _hadn’t_ abandoned him–he’d been forcibly taken from her custody.

As it turned out, she’d been admitted to a psychiatric ward months ago when one of her friends caught her apparently trying to gouge their son outta her womb with a spoon only five months into her pregnancy. That was why none of her family’d gotten in touch with him about anything–either they hadn’t known, or they’d hated him and considered his ex’s psychosis _his_ fault for finally dumping her. If it was the latter, it was certainly a petty move on their part, but he could be just as petty at Times, if he felt like it. No way was he gonna let his ex’s family around his son, if they’d tried to keep him away like that when the newborn baby obviously needed him the most.

Unfortunately, Bobby couldn’t think of any names he liked off the top of his head, ’cuz his top pick’d been Ken for a boy, Barbie for a girl. He got the feeling that–even if she wasn’t his biological mother and didn’t sign his Birth certificate in Mishy’s place–his friend wasn’t gonna let that fly any more than his ex woulda. While he wasn’t disappointed in her ultimately vetoing his top choice, he certainly wasn’t expecting her to spit out a name that actually had a pretty good ring to it. And not only that, but it used the same initials as the name his ex’d picked out before she’d even known what they were having.

“Welcome to the World, Zeppelin Bentley Kuykendall,” he chuckled, glancing back down at his son. “Daddy’s not letting ya go for shit, even if it means getting my own tour bus now.”

A Day shy of two weeks later, Poison rolled into their next venue three hours South of home in San Diego, California. None of the blondes’d seen their bassist since–somehow or another–he’d arranged to have himself and the young woman he’d taken under his wing picked up first. Considering they hadn’t seen him since any of their own pick-ups, for all they knew, he wasn’t even on the bus with them, their manager, and their crew.

Outta said personnel, Howie was the only one to realize _why_ he’d been the only one to see Bobby, Lyric, and their new tag-along. After all, he’d to make arrangementsta have the back lounge converted into a full-on bedroom for them since it was too late to get the lone brunette his own bus. Said brunette’d threatened to string him up by his nuts and let them slowly get ripped off, if he didn’t help him ensure his newborn son’s safety one way or another. He didn’t care whether that was getting him his own bus, making this one safer, or whatever else he could come up with–his only other choice was quitting at least the tour.

Hearing a soft, but irritable whimper from the vicinity of his chest was what woke Bobby from the nap he’d lain down for after boarding the bus. Next came the sensation of something playing with his bare nipple, and he could almost immediately tell that that something was a tongue. Considering he’d settled his son on the mattress of his new bed next to him, he’d no doubt that it was said baby, who was no doubt getting hungry since it’d been a couple hours since his last feeding.

 _“Shhhh, shhhh, shhhh,_ lil man–Daddy’s gotcha,” the young bassist murmured as he rubbed his back.

 _“Ahhhh,”_ Zep whined around his nipple before suckling even more furiously.

“Go ahead and suck Daddy’s nipple clean off, then,” he chuckled softly as he made his way through the bunk room. “If it’ll keep chu quiet for a couple more minutes…”

The infant in his arms simply whined again as he started digging out what he needed to make him a bottle.

“Daddy’s working on it, bud,” Bobby promised him, not even noticing his band mates peek outta their bunks when they realized they were actually hearing his voice.

Just a couple minutes later, the young bassist was stretching out on the couch in the front lounge, his son cradled in his left arm so he was closer to the back of it. At least if he wound up falling off said couch, he wouldn’t be at _quite_ as high a risk of landing on and squishing said baby. He just hoped he wouldn’t End up dropping him, if that were to happen, since that could End just as badly as landing on him.

Zep seemed to squeal happily as he finally popped the rubber nipple of his bottle into his mouth, which started to suckle it almost furiously. He couldn’t help a soft chuckle as he used his pinky to caress the boy’s cheek, even as he tilted his own head back against the arm rest. Taking care of a baby was definitely harder than he’d imagined it’d be, but it was a challenge he most certainly wasn’t backing down from. Even if Lyric _hadn’t_ been in that social worker’s officeta talk him into it, now that he’d gotten attached to his son, he didn’t have it in him to simply turn him away.

 _“Uhhhh,_ Bobby?”

Peeping up through one blurry eye, he vaguely made out three blonde heads of varying shades. “Outta order till it’s Time to start getting ready,” Bobby grumbled, closing his eye again.

“Man, what on Earth’re ya doing with a _baby?”_ Bret asked.

He simply shrugged, not exactly in the mood to talk about it at the moment since he was still ridiculously tired.

“’Cuz apparently, he doesn’t know what rubbers are–or how to use ’em, if he _does.”_

The young bassist couldn’t help a smirk as he registered the familiar feminine voice, even though he didn’t open his eyes. _“Har dee har har,_ Lyric.”

“Well, how else do ya explain having a clone now?” she laughed softly. “Or didja _actually_ clone yourself?”

“Pretty sure that’s just something outta science-fiction, girl,” Rikki chuckled, gently lifting his friend’s legs so he could sit down.

“You’ll see why I phrased it that way, if the possessive Bear ever lets him go once he’s done with his bottle,” Lyric swore. “’Cuz if he’s not practically a clone of Rob, I’ll eat my own foot.”

“I don’t think ya can actually get your foot up to your face without cutting it off,” the vocalist said.

Shooting him a look that said, _Challenge accepted, asshat!,_ the young woman managed to balance on one foot and bend over enough so that the other actually reached her face.

“Holy shit, man–she really _can_ manage it!” CC squawked, accidentally startling the feeding baby.

“Tone it down, asshat,” Bobby growled, opening his eyesta glare at him. “I’m not listening to Zep’s screaming unless he needs a bottle, a new diaper, or something along those lines.”

The guys were more than a bit surprised since he usually didn’t growl at them like that unless he was hungover–which he didn’t appear to be right now. None of them could deny that he definitely looked tired as he laid his head back on the arm rest, but it looked more like a genuine lack of sleep to them. Besides, his flesh didn’t appear an ashen hue to them like it normally did when he was hungover or otherwise feeling unwell. It looked just as lightly-tanned as it normally did from his hairline down to his collar, even down both his arms.

Lyric couldn’t help a snicker as she took the soon-empty bottle from him, then moved to the sink in the kitchenette to rinse it out. He shot her a tired, but thankful smile as he sat up more, his arms already moving the baby he still held so his lil head rested on his shoulder. She’d long since taught him how to burp Zep without hurting him or allowing him to choke on anything he spit up, and it was almost second Nature now.

Even Bret’s eyes widened as he watched his best friend gently rub and pat the baby’s back, his nose practically buried against that lil head as he did. It was such a tender scene that even the drummer couldn’t bite back a soft _awww,_ despite having never really considered _any_ of them father material. Then again, they were all wild, crazy rock stars that were still fairly young since none of them were even thirty yet. Maybe it was that fact that made them seem like they weren’t father material, although there was something elseta consider. Bobby was the baby of his band at twenty-seven, yet he was the first of all of them to have a child of his own.

“So, this is _really_ your baby?” Rikki asked once the lil guy’d let out a soft burp.

“My son, yeah,” the young bassist answered, nodding as he took the burp rag Lyric held out to him.

“Since when, though?” His best friend seemed surprised as much as confused. “I mean, none of us ever knew ya were supposed to be having a kid soon.”

“’Cuz I didn’t _wantcha_ to,” Bobby sighed, scooting backward a bit to make room to lay him down between his knees. “Not like I _wanted_ to admit Mishy and I split up right before we hit the road at the start of the tour, ya know.”

“Ouch, man.” Even the lead guitarist couldn’t help a sympathetic wince.

“But to answer the question… Biologically, since I apparently stuck my dick in crazy with a faulty rubber–legally, since just hours after he was born on the sixteenth,” he said, unbuttoning his son’s onesie.

Zep’s eyes bugged out and his mouth opened in a pink _O_ of surprise, his limbs flailing once he opened his diaper and allowed chilly Air to lick his lil rump.

“I’m not sure if I wanna or even _should_ ask whatcha mean by that,” the drummer told him, unable to help a wince of his own.

“Mishy apparently tried to gouge him outta her just five months into her pregnancy and got herself locked up in a nut house,” the young bassist grumbled. “Got _any_ amount of custody taken, so he’s now mine and Lyric’s.”

“Wait, what?” Bret looked shocked.

“Think of me signing Zep’s Birth certificate in place of his mother and helping Rob raise him as a way of repaying the latter for everything he’s done for me,” she chuckled.

“She made a good point in saying she didn’t _have_ to do that any more than I’d to take her under my wing a couple weeks ago,” Bobby agreed with a chuckle of his own. “But yet, she _still_ did it, no questions asked.”

“So now, as far as the legal system’s concerned, _I’m_ the boy’s mother,” the young woman said. “If anything were to ever happen to his daddy, he’d be put in _my_ custody unless I proved to be an unfit mother–which I’ve absolutely _no_ Intention of doing.”

“Hell, if anything, she’s been teaching me and whipping _my_ ass into shape to be a better daddy than I’d be on my own,” he laughed as he finished up his son’s diaper change.

Gently picking him back up, the young bassist wrapped his lil blanket around him loosely so he’d stay warm, but still be able to squirm around. Zep looked up at him with wide eyes, which closed marginally as he reached up and grabbed the tips of his hair just like he’d done the first Time he’d held him. There was certainly no denying the loving looks on both their faces as father and son just stared at each other, a tender smile on the face of said father.

Rikki was surprised when he finally looked up at him and motioned him a bit closer, his arms extending a bit as he held the boy out to him. He wasn’t too sure what to make of him entrusting him with something so preciousta him, even for a few moments, as his own arms seemed to develop a mind of their own. Moments later, the lil boy was cradled to his own chest, those big, Chocolate eyes staring up at _him_ now instead.

But even as he gazed down at the lil miracle he held, the drummer couldn’t deny that the boy belonged to Bobby. He’d never actually seen any pictures of his friend as a baby or young child, but he’d swear this lil boy looked identical to how he’d looked at this age. The only real difference seemed to be that his face was rounder, rather than being oval-shaped, and his cheeks were far chubbier. Other than that, he didn’t seem to hold even the slightest hint of his mother in his features, not even in the thick cap of Dark hair that Crowned his head in soft lil wisps.

“Okay, now I see what Lyric meant,” he chuckled. “I couldn’t deny he’s yours, even if I was wasted.”

“Holy shit,” Bret breathed, having moved to settle on the coffee table for a better look. “Man, she’s right about wondering if ya actually reproduced, or just cloned yourself.”

“I guess ya can say I kinda _did_ clone myself,” the young bassist laughed. “That’s pretty much a living version of my baby pictures in Rikki’s arms right now.”

“Wonder if he’ll have his daddy’s prowess, too, hint hint?” CC snickered.

“Fuck, I hope not!” he said. “I don’t want _or_ need grandbabies before I’m forty-five, and that’ll happen, if _that’s_ the case!”

“That’s if we _don’t_ raise him to be more careful than _you_ were,” Lyric chuckled. “Which I’ve every Intention of doing, even if you don’t.”

“Woman, I gave it up when I was twelve!” Bobby retorted. “I’m amazed I hadn’t spawned like this by the Time I was sixteen, to be honest.”

“As wild and crazy as Times’ve been since the sixties, ya never know…” The vocalist trailed off with a grin.

“Shut up before I squish your nuts like Grapes!” he warned him, shaking his fist toward his crotch.

“Squish your own nuts so ya _won’t_ clone yourself again!” Bret laughed. “’Cuz now I’m wondering how on Earth this is gonna affect the tour.”

The young woman was quick to explain what they’d worked out as a tentative plan just to see how it’d work out since even _they_ weren’t quite sure. While his mother’d offered to come out West to watch Zep till the tour Ended, her friend had quickly shot her down. After all, this was _his_ baby and therefore _his_ Responsibility, not to mention he simply didn’t wanna let him go for what could be the entire first Year of his Life. He didn’t wanna miss seeing his firsts, like the first Time he rolled over, the first tooth he cut, and the ever-important first Time he babbled _Ma-ma_ and _Da-da_. It wasn’t like he’d get a second chanceta see that kinda thing, and capturing it on a home video just wouldn’t be the same.

Considering that she wasn’t truly a part of the band and was only supposed to join them onstage for _Something to Believe In,_ Lyric wasta be his Primary caregiver. While she was onstage for that one song, Howie’d already said he’d keep an eye on the baby, who’d hopefully soon be to the point of sleeping through the Night. Once she was offstage and cleaned up again, she’d go back to the bus and let their manager reclaim his place backstage for the remainder of their shows.

She was quick to assure the guys that one of the things they’d done to the back lounge when they converted it wasta make sure it was soundproof. Even said manager couldn’t hear the boy howling, nor any of their personal conversations, from within that room once the door was closed. The only ones Zep’d be keeping awake anytime soon were herself and his daddy, which’d been the case already for the last couple weeks. If he somehow managed to keep even them up through all those layers of soundproofing, either the door’d been opened, or their ears were even more sensitive than hers.

Left with few other choices besides Bobby quitting on them since he was dead serious in not being separated from his son, the trio of blondes supposed they couldn’t really argue with that. At least they were _trying_ to find a happy medium for everybody, including their small crew, and that was what mattered. They just hoped that actually worked, ’cuz they were supposed to be on the road for nearly another Year before the tour Ended.


	8. Seven

_June, 1991_

_Milwaukee, Wisconsin_

By the Time Zep’d turned three months old in March, everybody seemed to’ve found a pretty good rhythm for having an infant on the tour with them. The guys all took their partying elsewhere–usually to nearby bars and whatnot–since their bassist’d given up all but smoking so far and didn’t want that shit done around his baby. He said it was bad enough that he and Lyric were both smokers, but they at least tried to limit his exposure to secondhand smoke by smoking _outside_ the bus. Not only that, but they tried to at least change their clothes before holding him again so that any smoke that’d clung to what they’d been wearing wouldn’t bother him as much, if at all.

While even Rikki tried to curb his drinking for the most part, not to mention follow their lead of not smoking on the bus, the other blondes didn’t seem to care as much. Having a baby onboard certainly didn’t stop them from getting into a fight after a show in Baton Rouge, Louisiana that left CC hitchhiking to the next in Monroe. That’d been their first show after nearly a week off–the first of five straight before they got another Night off–and they’d just barely avoided Ending the tour there.

Even though he was about ready to take all three of his band mates by their napes and slam their heads together hard enough to make their eyes roll Independently of each other, though, Bobby’d found a lil more good in Life. Aside from his son being happy and thriving–which was proven by a couple well-baby checkups at local pediatricians’ offices on Days off–he’d managed something else he hadn’t thought he would. It’d taken quite a bit of nerve on his part, but he’d finally begged the young woman for a date–to which she’d amazingly said yes. Part of him’d honestly thought she’d turn him down, even though she was his son’s legal mother, so he’d been ecstatic once he’d processed that lone word. But he still hadn’t dared try to kiss her, which was quickly rectified when she’d laughed, grabbed his face, and took care of that, herself.

Now, a lil over three months after that nearly tour-Ending fight and gaining a girlfriend in the woman he’d been so attracted to, they’d been on the road for a month again. They’d taken off a couple months not long after that aforementioned fight so the guys could cool off and get their heads on straight again, but now they were back at it. And while that extended break seemed to’ve done a lotta good for Rikki and the young bassist, it seemed to only make things worse for their Melody section.

“Bret Michael Sychak!” Lyric practically growled at the vocalist, who’d been goading CC yet again. “One more word outta your Peanut Gallery, and I swear to the Goddess, I’m knocking your head into the second Týr’s Day of next fuckin’ week!”

“What the hell was I doing?” he asked, trying to play the innocent card.

“Ya know very well whatcha were doing,” the young woman snapped. “Goad him into hitting ya one more Time, and I’m tying ya to the hand rail on the bus stairs by your hair–and I’ma make sure ya look like the bride of Frankenstein when somebody’s to cut your hair to getcha loose again!”

“Dude, just chill the fuck out,” Rikki sighed. “You’re not helping matters by being so immature.”

“Oh, like _you’re_ one to talk!” the vocalist snapped.

“At least I’m not trying to goad my band mates into hitting me so I’ll have a reason to fire them,” he retorted. “’Cuz yeah, even _I’m_ sick of the cocaine use–but that doesn’t warrant starting fights all the Time.”

“He keeps on, and I’m putting _my_ idea to use.”

Everybody turned to see Bobby coming outta the bunk room, one arm supporting his son–who was snuggled against his chest–while his free hand roseta muffle the yawn he let out.

“And what idea’d that be?” the lead guitarist asked from where he all but sulked.

“I’ma take all three of ya that’ve blonde hair by the backs of your heads and slam said heads together till your eyes start rolling Independently of each other like a blind man’s,” he growled.

Zep giggled around his paci at the Thought of Daddy bonking his uncles’ heads together like that, which was quick to start dispelling some of the growing tension.

Even Rikki couldn’t help a soft chuckle as he held out his hands invitingly, the lil squirt squealing as he reached out to him in Return. It seemed that if he’d developed an attachment to anyone as strong as the ones he’d developed with his parents, it was the drummer. He was forever wanting said tallest blonde to hold him when neither of his parents were available, which was prolly why he was often called upon as babysitter for a date Night whenever there was Time to spare. That, and ’cuz–since he’d toned down his own wild ways quite a bit–he was the most responsible and therefore the one said parents trusted most besides Howie.

The young bassist yawned again before leaning down to give his girlfriend a kiss once he’d handed off his son. Lyric was quick to Return the kiss, which she hummed into as she reached up to wrap her arms around the back of his neck. She was certainly glad that tonight was their last show till the upcoming one in Cincinnati on July third, which was nearly a week away. Neither were quite sure whether they were gonna take their Time with getting to the next City or not, but there was bound to be a stop at a hotel _somewhere_ along the way.

It wasn’t long till they were being called to tonight’s stage so they could run through a few songs from their setlist during Sound check. The young woman made sure to head out to where the crowd would be that Night, Zep all but sitting on her forearm as he reclined against her breasts. He loved getting to watch Daddy and his uncles during Sound check since he wasn’t quite old enough to stay up for the actual show. Said daddy making silly faces at him from the stage as he played was always entertaining for him, making him squeal and clap clumsily, but approvingly. It certainly entertained his mama, if only by getting to laugh at how he practically tried to dance in her arms till she joined them.

But after Sound check, another new form of trouble started brewing, what with the guys being rushed into getting ready early. Somebody’d apparently set up a last-minute interview for them, which’d sent Howie into a near-panic as he herded them onto the bus. Nobody realized that Bobby’s hand wasn’t quite through the door when the manager’d reached down to pull it shut–till he let out a pained howl and shoved him.

“Ow, fuck!” he snapped, yanking his right hand outta the doorjamb it’d just gotten smashed in and cradling it to his chest.

“Damn, man!” Bret was the one who practically squawked at his best friend’s sudden cry.

“What the hell happened?” The drummer gently pulled his hand away from his chest to take a look.

Even Lyric couldn’t help a gasp as he cried out again, which startled Zep into letting out a shriek of his own. _“Shhhh, shhhh, shhhh,_ lil man–Daddy’s gonna be all right.”

Said young bassist couldn’t help a pained groan, barely biting back yet another cry when Rikki gently separated his fingers and thumb so he wouldn’t scare his son anymore.

“I think it’s just bruised,” he said. “But I’m no doctor, so I wouldn’t quote me on that later.”

“Fuck.” The vocalist ran his own hand through his hair. “What’dja do to it, man?”

“Ask…Howie…” Bobby ground out, cradling his hand against his chest again once it was let go. “He’s the one who slammed it in the door.”

“Damn it, man–all four of us kinda _need_ both our hands tonight!” he snapped, whirling on their manager.

“It was an accident, Bret!” Howie said, holding up his own hands in surrender.

“Ya better hope he can get through the show tonight, or I’m slamming _your_ hand in a door!” Bret growled. Judging by the Fire burning in his blue eyes, he meant what he said.

Pushing her boyfriend into their bedroom, the young woman insisted on taking a better look at his hand since she was actually better at making diagnoses. He was reluctant to let her, which she assured him she understood since she wouldn’t exactly want someone messing with even a bruised appendage. But he also knew how gentle her touch could be when she wanted it to, that it was even more gentle than the touch Rikki’d used when he’d checked it. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt as bad this Time, but he still wasn’t looking forward to letting her, especially if it made him cry out and scare Zep again.

Lyric just barely ghosted her fingers over his, even his thumb and the back of his hand, and although he still winced, at least he didn’t so much as groan. Based on how swollen it already was, it was definitely gonna be bruised by that Night alone, but definitely by the next Morn. However, based on him still being able to at least wiggle his digits on command, she didn’t think any of them were actually broken.

“Prolly a hairline fracture, at the very worst,” she said.

“And what’s _that_ supposed to mean, exactly?” Bobby groaned, his face twisted in pain.

“That it’s not a complete break, like your arm’d be, if ya were to break it and need a cast,” the young woman explained. “The term hairline comes from the fact that there’s a fracture, but it’s literally as thin as a human hair on an X-ray, which can make it hard to spot.”

“Is it supposed to hurt like this, if that’s the case?” he asked, unable to help a whimper.

“Pretty sure I’d a hairline fracture in my own thumb one Time,” Lyric chuckled, holding her own right hand out to him. “And lemme tell ya, if I didn’t, it was one nasty sprain or something, as bad as it hurt.”

The young bassist couldn’t help a wince, which was both sympathetic and in reaction to his throbbing hand.

“I was helping a friend get her four-wheeler outta a ditch in the Woods back in North Carolina,” she explained. “I told her _not_ to hit the gas till I said so, or she was gonna make it worse and spray me with mud. Instead of listening to me–who’d more experience with such things–she did the very opposite and made me lose my footing.”

“Doesn’t sound pleasant,” Bobby said.

“Not when I landed like this, particularly on my thumb.” The young woman turned so her right arm was behind her, her thumb pointing almost straight in front of her as her weight braced practically on the knuckles right at the back of her hand, palm-down.

“Ow, fuck–that _had_ to’ve hurt,” he winced sympathetically.

“Hence why I said that it was a really bad sprain at best, a hairline fracture that was never diagnosed since my mom refused to take me to a doctor at worst,” Lyric told him. “Damn thing hurt for months after that, and it sometimes acts up in that same spot now.”

“Butcha could still move it?” the young bassist asked.

Nodding, she confirmed that the only reason she _hadn’t_ been able to move her thumb after that was purely by choice ’cuz it hurt so much. If it’d been truly broken, she wouldn’t have been able to move it right from the get-go, no matter how hard she tried. Most likely, her ability to still move it was why her mother’d refused to take her to see a doctor about it, considering she’d to pretty much be dying to convince her to do such a thing outside her annual physicals–most of which were skipped, anywhore.

That gave Bobby a lil Hope that he’d be able to get through that Night’s show without seeking treatment for his hand. It’d certainly be pushing his limit, but as long as he could still move his thumb and fingers, he figured he’d be able to manage well enough. He foresaw just not wanting to use his middle finger, considering that hurt almost as bad as his thumb, on the songs he’d to finger-pick, but not much worse than that.

Lyric gave him a hard look as she moved to change their son’s diaper before she took him off to feed him lunch. She warned him that if his hand wasn’t doing any better by Morn–or Gods forbid, had swollen more than it already was–he wasn’t to fight her on seeking treatment. If it swelled up any worse than already had, that could cut off blood flow to his digits, which might cost him said digits from the tissue dying. A horrified look crossed his face as he glanced down, trying to imagine his thumb and fingers black or completely amputated–which he couldn’t and didn’t wanna imagine.

By the next Morn, the young bassist’s hand had swelled up to three Times its normal size, and it was more so that swelling that prevented him from moving his digits, not the pain. Granted, that pain _definitely_ made him not wanna try more than he absolutely had to, not to mention even made him whimper in his sleep every Time the bus hit a bump. But now that he not only couldn’t move the most-affected digits _and_ he was starting to lose sensation in a couple fingertips, his girlfriend had had enough.

Since they’d made it to Cincinnati, Ohio about six hours after leaving their last venue, she decided to take action while she’d a chance. Not even bothering to leave a note for Howie and the guys, she got Zep packed up and ready to go since said guys were still asleep. There wouldn’t be anyone to watch him unless she woke Rikki up, and she didn’t wanna waste Time on that right now.

Fortunately, the closest hospital that _wasn’t_ a childrens’ or other specialty hospital was only about ten miles away from the venue they were parked at. Even by taking one of the cabs that was miraculously parked outside said venue, the fastest route meant they’d be there in about twenty minutes. Their only Hope once they got there was that the place wasn’t _too_ crowded, considering this was a big City bound to have all sortsa emergencies at any given Time. Bobby certainly hoped they weren’t too busy, ’cuz he just wanted his hand to quit hurting– _without_ having to take a hacksaw to it, himself. That, and to quit scaring his son by letting out a whimper or cry every Time he so much as moved his arm, even up toward his shoulder.

Luckily for the young family, the ER charge nurse took one look at his hand and deemed him in need of a doctor immediately. That was no doubt in part that–miracle of miracles–this particular ER surprisingly wasn’t all that busy, which was prolly ’cuz it was only about eight in the Morn. No doubt that if they’d waited any longer, they’d be having to hope his hand was completely numb and starting to turn Colors worse than the bruising was making it do. It’d prolly be about the only way to have him seen and treated sooner since he obviously wasn’t having trouble breathing, or in the throes of a heart attack.

“Good Morn, folks.”

Looking up from where she’d been feeding Zep’s breakfast to him, Lyric smiled at the doctor that’d just pulled open the drawn curtain of the trauma bay they’d been taken to. “I’d agree with that, if it _were_ a good Morn for us, doc.”

“My name’s Dr. Jeanine Lacy,” the woman said. “So, I hear we’ve a beat-up hand this Morn?”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Bobby grumbled. Said appendage was hidden under the lapel of his leather jacket as he cradled it to his chest again.

“Well, lemme take a look, and we’ll see if it warrants an X-ray,” she told him.

The young bassist was clearly reluctant to move his hand again, but finally pulled it out after a bit of coaxing from his girlfriend.

“What happened to it again?” Dr. Lacy asked, surprised by all the swelling and bruising.

“He’s a touring musician,” said girlfriend spoke up. “We were heading back to the tour bus between Sound check and showtime to just relax. Next thing we know, he’s howling like a Wolf and swearing their manager was in such a rush, he accidentally slammed it in the door.”

“’Cuz he did!” he insisted, biting back a cry as the doctor examined his hand.

“I’m thinking at least his thumb’s broken,” the doctor said. “We’ll get an X-ray just to be sure, but judging by this swelling, it’s a sure bet that there’s at least a hairline fracture.”

“Just fuckin’ great,” Bobby growled, finally jerking his hand away from her after she’d examined the rest of his fingers. “Enough, already–it already hurts bad enough, as is.”

“I know, I know, sir–but I think you’d rather me be thorough and give ya the right diagnosis over the alternative,” she chuckled. “Lemme go call Radiology and see if they wantcha to come up there, or if they’ll send a mobile unit down here instead.”

Nodding as she cleaned up the face of the baby she’d been feeding, Lyric assured her that she wasn’t letting her boyfriend leave before she Returned. She’d already told him what could happen, if he let the swelling, alone go untreated, and as bad as he needed his hands for his job, he couldn’t afford that. He might snap like a Snapping Turtle and get fed up with the constant poking and prodding quicker than normal, but he wouldn’t leave without treatment.

It wasn’t long before the radiologist was being led over to the trauma bay by Dr. Lacy, a portable X-ray unit being dragged behind him. He was sympathetic to the pain of his young patient, but he still needed him to flatten his hand as much as he could. That was a bit hard for him to do, as swollen as the appendage was, but he managed to flatten it enough to get a good shot and not have to go through this again. Now, it was a bit of a waiting game while the film developed so the X-ray could be read, but he certainly hoped nothing _too_ bad was going on beneath his flesh. Certainly not anything bad enough to warrant taking him up to surgery to repair any broken bones, which’d take him outta commission for months.

The X-ray didn’t take long to develop enough to be read, and while the results weren’t as bad as they coulda been, they certainly weren’t what he’d hoped for. Bobby proved to definitely have a broken thumb, his index and middle fingers hiding a couple hairline fractures that’d Heal on their own prolly within the next couple weeks, as long as he didn’t push himself too hard.

But as swollen as his hand was, the radiologist recommended something called a fasciotomy, lest he wind up losing that broken thumb. He wasn’t quite sure what that meant, which the pair of doctors seemed to realize when they saw the confused look on his face. In fact, it was Dr. Lacy who was quick to explain that the aforementioned procedure’d leave him with an open surgical wound, but’d relieve the pressure in his hand. Otherwise, that pressure’d continue cutting off blood flow till the tissue started dying, which was when they’d have to do an amputation, if he didn’t want any gangrene spreading.

“I’m _soooo_ not gonna like this, but I’d rather have to have my hand stitched back up than lose part of it,” the young bassist groaned.

“Oh, we’re gonna give ya a local anesthetic before we do any such thing,” she assured him. “Just ’cuz ya might not be able to feel it right now doesn’t mean that’s gonna be the case as that swelling’s relieved.”

“She’s right about that, son,” the elderly radiologist chuckled. “Wouldn’t be humane _not_ to give ya something to block it beforehand.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s gonna last forever!” he retorted, grimacing as they got his hand flattened again.

“Just breathe, love,” Lyric crooned from his other side. “Breathe, and squeeze _my_ hand.”

Bobby couldn’t help a groan as he felt the burn of the local that was injected moments later. “Shit, that burns!”

“It’s just the local,” Dr. Lacy told him. “It always happens, so that’s not anything to worry about.”

The young bassist simply grumbled under his breath, turning his head away from what they were doing.

His girlfriend was quick to distract him by getting him to sing _Every Rose_ with her, deeming at least the chorus fitting right now. After all, it was a fairly soft song that shouldn’t disturb any surrounding patients, but this was just one of the many thorns in the Life he’d chosen for himself. If nothing else, it gave him something elseta focus on as he was having his hand filleted to avoid losing it altogether.

Not five minutes later, Dr. Lacy’d done just that–filleted his hand from the edge of his wrist down to the second knuckle of his thumb. Careful not to go too deep, she made another couple incisions down the back of his hand, these leading down to the first knuckles of his index and middle fingers. He almost immediately regained the sensation down to his fingertips, now able to move his thumb and fingers on command again. The only places he _couldn’t_ feel anything were the areas right around those incisions, but that could only be blamed on the local they’d given him.

The attending told him as she wrapped his hand to keep those incisions from getting infected to come back before he left town, depending on how long he was gonna be in the area. By then, the swelling shoulda gone down enough for her to be able to stitch his hand up so they could start Healing alongside the broken and fractured bones. If he _wasn’t_ gonna be in the area for very long, she wanted him to take his discharge paperwork to whatever was the nearest hospital at the End of the week and get checked out there.

Given that there really wasn’t much else they could do for him till those incisions could be closed–which included putting a cast on his thumb–Bobby was discharged from the ER relatively quickly. One of the few things they _could_ do for him was send him on his way with a scrip for a painkiller, which even the radiologist warned him to take sparingly. He’d seen too many people come in for something as innocent as this and wind up going down a far Darker Path, and he didn’t wanna see this young man do that. The fact that he’d a young child who depended on him made him even more strict on that, Lyric assuring them she’d keep him in line. From there, they were off to get that scrip filled before Returning to the bus so they could all get at least a lil rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so after some research, I think it was actually sometime in '86/'87 on the _Look What the Cat Dragged In_ tour when Bobby apparently broke his hand/thumb, rather than in '90/'91 on the _Flesh and Blood_ tour. I've read in a few different places that he started using Yamahas during the recording of and subsequent tour for that latter album, that he's been quoted as saying it sounds just like a Yamaha Baby Grand and that's why he made the switch. That being said, I added a couple picsta the Wattpad posting of this chapter–y'all tell me what make and model of bass he's playing in those pics... LOL!  
> ~Firefly


	9. Eight

By Týr’s Day Morn, Bobby’s hand was practically back to normal, aside from the wicked-looking open wounds in the back of it and the broken bones one couldn’t actually see. That was in part due to his girlfriend somewhat torturing him several Times a Day, the frequency increasing, if he was particularly sweaty. He definitely couldn’t say he was a big fan of Saltwater unless he was swimming in it, sans open wounds, but her _off-the-wall_ Wisdom was quickly evident.

Not only was that an effective way to keep those wounds clean so they wouldn’t get infected, it also served to help them start Healing on their own. As if that wasn’t amazing enough, the Salt kept them from oozing beneath their bandage by keeping them relatively dried out. It wasn’t to the point that they were a thick, deep scab or anything–just enough to avoid infection and constant oozing that’d cause any discomfort for him.

As he walked into the ER of the University of Cincinnati Medical Center that Morn four Days later, he couldn’t say he wasn’t a lil nervous. He’d left his girlfriend abed since they’d both been up late–after all, he wasn’t letting a busted hand stop him from getting laid–so he was on his own this Morn. Sure, he was Comforted by her Calming, loving presence the Morn she’d brought him here, but he was also a big boy. If he couldn’t manage to get through seeing a doctor–whether it was for an annual physical or to get a body part stitched up–on his own, then he was in sad need of a different type of professional help.

“How can I help ya, sir?” the woman manning the nurse’s station asked when she looked up and saw him.

“I’m looking for Dr. Lacy, if she’s on-duty this Morn,” Bobby answered. “I was here earlier this week about my hand since we weren’t sure if it was broken it or not at first.”

“Ah, so it’s a follow-up?” she asked, nodding as she started typing behind her desk.

“Kinda, sorta,” the young bassist chuckled. “She told me to come back so it could be stitched up since she’d to filet it before I wound up losing it.”

Cocking a brow, she didn’t seem to get what he meant, which made him chuckle again as he laid his bandaged hand on the edge of it.

“I can’t remember the term she used off the top of my head–I’ma musician, not a doctor, after all,” Bobby told her as he unwrapped the bandage.

“Ah, a fasciotomy,” the woman said after a quick glance. “Yeah, definitely needsta be stitched up, as long as the swelling those incisions were supposed to be relieving has gone down.”

“Pretty sure it has,” he told her. “It _was_ three Times this size when I was here earlier this week.”

“Yikes, no Wonder Dr. Lacy made that call.” She winced sympathetically.

“Yeah, I mean–it’s not quite it’s normal size I don’t think, but nothing like a few Days ago,” the young bassist said. “I’ma let _her_ make the final judgment, but hopefully I can get these jokers closed up today.”

Nodding, the nurse told him she’d go see if the doctor he sought was currently with a patient or not while he waited in the waiting area. She didn’t think she was–considering the ER was pretty much dead at the moment–but she could still be getting set up after clocking in. He was quick to Return the nod, grabbing the lil bit of paperwork he’d brought with him after she helped rewrap his hand before heading off to the area she’d indicated.

Bobby sighed as he settled in one of the most uncomfortable chairs he’d ever come across in his Life, dragging his good hand down his face. Part of him almost wanted to just walk outta here right now, but there was a bigger part really wanted his hand closed up so it’d Heal properly. If he were honest, he was just ready for that Healing to happen so he wasn’t in pain, mostly ’cuz Lyric wouldn’t let him have his painkiller till bedtime.

A soft noiseta his left caught his attention, but not quite like feeling something gently tugging on the tips of his hair. It was a familiar feeling since Zep often did that to get his attention when he was zoned out, or when the baby boy was trying to wake him up from a nap for something. Turning to take a look, he saw a baby girl prolly about his son’s age playing with his hair from her mother’s lap, and it was obvious she was smiling behind the plastic of her paci. Given that she wasn’t trying to yank it–rather, she seemed like she was enthralled by how soft it was–he didn’t bother trying to stop her.

“Maci, leave his hair alone!” her mother snapped when she took notice of her baby’s actions.

“Ah, I’m used to it, ma’am,” the young bassist chuckled. “She looks about my son’s age, and he does it all the Time.”

She gave him a bit of an odd look, her daughter–presumably Maci–seeming a bit startled by the depth of his voice.

“If I no wanted chu to play wiff it, I’d have stopped chu already, sweetheart,” Bobby chuckled, gently caressing the lil girl’s cheek.

Said lil girl giggled almost bashfully, kinda like a much older girl being shy about flirting, while her mother shot him a dirty look.

“Disgusting, dirty hoodlum!” the woman spat, jerking the lil girl away from him.

“Think whatcha want.” He simply shrugged. “’Cuz I’m plenty of things, but those aren’t two of them.”

Before the woman could respond to that, he heard his name called from closer to the nurse’s station and pushed himself up from his chair.

“Chu behave for your mama, whether her Trust’s misplaced or not,” the young bassist told the baby girl, who seemed to understand exactly what he was saying, judging by the nod she gave him.

Following the nurse who’d called his name, Bobby soon found himself not in a trauma bay, but an actual exam room. He was quick to settle on the exam table, already pulling his left arm outta his jacket sleeve since he was pretty sure she was gonna get his blood pressure. After all, that was just one of the things that usually happened during a doctor’s appointment, scheduled or otherwise.

Once she’d gotten his vitals, she headed out to go nab Dr. Lacy, who was waiting in her officeta be told that he was checked in and ready to be seen. The young bassist hoped she showed up in the next couple minutes, ’cuz he was more than ready to get back to the hotel. Even though his painkiller was mostly worn off, he was still feeling a lil on the sleepy side, so he just wanted to go back to bed. Course, quite a bit of that could simply be blamed on having been on tour for months, not to mention having an infant son who kept him hopping ’round the clock.

“Good Morn, Mr. Kuykendall.”

Peeping up from under his hat since he’d lain back on the exam table and halfway dozed off, he saw the doctor he’d been waiting on. “Morn, Dr. Lacy.”

“I hear your hand’s already doing better,” the doctor chuckled, closing the door behind her.

“A lot, yeah.” Bobby nodded as he sat up, using his good hand to lay his hat behind him. “Not nearly as swollen, from what I can tell, that’s for sure.”

“Well, let’s have a look.” She moved a small rolling table so that he could lay it down where it’d be easy for her to reach and started unwrapping the bandage.

The young bassist couldn’t help a wince, feeling like said bandage was ripping off a scab.

“Oh, yeah–definitely nowhere near as swollen now,” Dr. Lacy announced. “It actually looks like the fasciotomy’s already starting to Heal on its own.”

“Well, I’ve always had a pretty strong immune system,” he chuckled. “Almost never got sick as a kid, no matter what I did and all.”

“Seems like you’ve been cleaning it pretty well, too,” the doctor laughed.

“That’d be my girlfriend’s doing, not mine,” Bobby told her. “Let’s just say I’ve a new hatred for Saltwater unless I’m swimming in it and leave it at that.”

Letting out another laugh, she said that the remaining open wounds could definitely be stitched up to minimize any scarring. He’d still likely have a few scars across the back of his hand, but prolly not so bad that they wouldn’t eventually fade from sight. That might take a few Years, even decades for that to actually happen, but it was certainly better than what he’d have without stitches.

He was quick to agree, even though that meant suffering the burn of a local anesthetic till it kicked in again, ’cuz he definitely didn’t want any nasty scars. While he couldn’t say he was completely virgin flesh anymore–he’d a couple well-hidden tattoos, after all–that didn’t mean he wanted the entire back of his hand decorated to hide a handful of scars. There were better reasonsta wear his Art, whether he was the one who drew it or not, and besides, folks’d take him a lil more seriously without being overly decorated. Plenty of walking, evil-looking coloring books like Nikki Sixx already existed–he’d no desire to become one of _those_ rock stars.

Bobby couldn’t help a hiss and a pained groan as he felt that burn in the back of his hand a few minutes later. He couldn’t stop his fingers from twitching in response, even though he tried to hold still to avoid making the doctor hit something she shouldn’t with the needle still in the back of his hand. Luckily, she was quick to remove it so that lil bit of the local’d Time to kick in, which’d help him keep still for her since he wouldn’t feel as much, if any of the rest of it.

“All right, I’ma go check on the rest of the ER while we’re letting that kick in,” Dr. Lacy told him, pulling off her gloves. “Just hang tight, and if I’m not back in a couple minutes, you’ll know I’d an emergency case come in.”

“Sounds good, doc,” he agreed with a nod. He supposed he didn’t have many other choices, after all.

Thankfully, no emergencies’d cropped up since he’d been brought back, so the doctor was able to Return relatively quickly. By the Time she did, he was already feeling less and less of his hand as the local kicked in, which meant he shouldn’t feel a thing by the Time she got her stitch kit set up. He still couldn’t watch as she worked, though, ’cuz there was just something gross about watching such a thing as far as he was concerned.

“Not quite good as new now, but definitely closer than it was,” she said once she was done.

Glancing down, the young bassist saw that she’d stitched up all three of the incisions she’d made four Days ago. “Looks like I’ve railroad tracks across my hand or something,” he chuckled.

“Better that than the open wounds, right?” Dr. Lacy asked with a grin.

“Yeah, definitely better than that,” the young bassist agreed.

“Now, I wantcha to keep those dry–other than that Saltwater to clean it twice a Day, no submerging it or anything,” she told him as she started cleaning up the resulting trash.

“Great–means I’ma have to tape a trash bag over my hand just to shower,” Bobby laughed. “’Cuz I know my girlfriend–a whore-bath isn’t gonna cut it with her, as sweaty as a show’s bound to make me.”

“Just make sure ya keep it relatively dry, and even sweat’ll help it Heal, as long as it’s cleaned regularly,” the doctor told him. “Sweat contains Salt, after all.”

“At least I’m not being told I can’t play at all, I suppose,” he said.

It wasn’t long before she was walking him out to the nurse’s station to get checked out so he could head back to his hotel. Considering his desire to get outta here, he didn’t really pay much mind to anyone else around him, both staff and other patients alike. He was ready for a nap, not to mention just spend his last Day off till Thor’s Day with his girlfriend and adorable, if wild son.

Settling his hat back on his head once he was ready to head outside, Bobby still paid lil mind to any of the other patients. He was more interested in how bright the Sun’d gotten in the last couple hours, even the soft tapping of his cowboy boots first on tile, then on concrete. But he paid just enough attention to his surroundings as he scoped out a cab to hail that he noticed the relatively young mother from earlier. The baby girl who’d been in her lap now rode on her hip, and she seemed to be trying to tell him bye, given the way she squealed to get his attention and flapped her hand clumsily.

Laughing under his breath as he Returned the wave, the young bassist was just about to hail his cab when a sudden screeching caught his attention. Whirling to face the other Direction, he saw an outta-Control car about to plow into the side of the hospital he’d just been inside of. But before it’d hit the reinforced-concrete wall, it was gonna take out that young mother and her infant daughter like they were living bowling pins. The very Thought horrified him–mostly the daddy in him–and he didn’t even think about what he did before he did it.

Wrapping his arms around the woman as he dove, he managed to knock her outta the way before the car could plow into her. Both hands–even his broken, now stitched one–pulled her daughter even more securely against her breasts as he managed to twist so he landed on his back. He couldn’t bite back the _Oof!_ he let out as her body landing face-up on his torso knocked the wind outta him, but that was a small priceta pay. Even his hand throbbing again was a small priceta pay, if it meant seeing this mother and daughter walk away from something that woulda otherwise meant their Deaths. That–aside from his sudden adrenaline rush–was what made him hold her there for a moment before her squirming made him loosen his grip.

“Jesus Christ!”

Managing to push himself upright with his good hand once the woman’d scrambled off him, he saw Dr. Lacy and several of her team running out the ER doors. “Make sure those two’re all right.”

“What about yourself?” she asked, her nurses already swarming the car that’d plowed into their hospital.

“Worst I’ma have now’s a couple ruptured discs in my neck,” Bobby answered. “But it’s not hurting any worse than normal, so I’m not worried about it.”

“Let’s getcha back inside and a quick X-ray on that,” the doctor sighed. “I’m not letting ya leave with an injury that could very well be Life-threatening.”

“Well, there goes the nap I was entertaining the notion of,” the young bassist chuckled, letting her help him up.

The young woman seemed like she might be a lil bruised at worst, as did her daughter, who was screaming in Fear.

“Hey, hey, hey–dry those tears, lil angel,” he crooned, grabbing his hat to settle back on his head before gently caressing her cheek. “Chu’s gon’ be otays.”

“Even if I _hadn’t_ met your adorable lil boy last week, I’d be able to tell there’s a daddy hiding in ya, despite the bad boy appearance,” Dr. Lacy laughed as she herded him and the other pair inside.

“Hey, I’ma lotta things–musician, bad boy, biker, boyfriend, and daddy’re just a few,” Bobby chuckled, somehow not surprised when the baby girl reached out to him. “Well, c’mere, if it’ll dry those tears.”

Her mother seemed reluctant to hand her over, but baby Maci was equally insistent as she reached out to his waiting hands. Even though taking her made him wince slightly due to his right hand currently being fucked-up, he was still quick to snuggle her against his chest. She almost immediately sniffled and cooed, burying her face against his chest as she grabbed a hank of his hair like a Lifeline.

The young bassist settled on the gurney next to where her mother was led to, taking care to make sure she was still within sight of her daughter. He wasn’t too sure why this baby girl was latching onto him like this–maybe it was a delayed reaction to him saving them, maybe he just reminded her of her daddy. Something told him that he wasn’t gonna find out before they parted ways, but he was content with that–meeting someone and never seeing them again after a short period of Time was part of his job description, after all.

Bobby was forced to hand the baby girl to a nurse when the same radiologist that’d done the X-ray on his hand last weekend dragged an X-ray machine over to him. The daddy in him that wouldn’t wanna expose his own child to the radiation about to be shot at him didn’t wanna expose lil Maci to it, either, even though she clearly wasn’t happy with being handed off. Luckily, actually getting the X-ray of his neck and upper back was a quick affair for all involved.

Once he was allowed to sit up, he was more than glad to take the baby who’d started screaming again back from the nurse he’d handed her to. It seemed like she was a bit reluctant to hand her over till the lil girl’s mother sighed and nodded from where she was still being checked out by Dr. Lacy mere feet away. With her mother’s permission, though, she didn’t bother hesitating to take a step closer, gently shifting the infant so she could settle her in his lap. He couldn’t help a soft chuckle as she seemed to burrow into his leather jacket, almost as if she was both terrified and trying to hide, and cold. But again, this was familiar behavior since Zep did the same thing to him all the Time when he was wearing more than a tank top.

“Da-da!”

Hearing a familiar babble, the young bassist glanced up, a smile crossing his face when he spotted his girlfriend heading toward him with his son. _“Buongirono, tesoro.”_

_“Dea dolce,_ I can’t leave ya alone for five minutes withoutcha getting hurt, can I?” his girlfriend chuckled.

“All in a Day’s work for me,” Bobby snickered, humming into the kiss she leaned into give him.

“Apparently, adopting a random one’s in a Day’s work for ya, too,” she said. “As if this one’s not already a handful and a-half.”

“For somebody with two functioning hands,” the young bassist retorted. “Nah, this one got to playing with my hair in the waiting room like Zep does all the Time.”

Baby Maci peeped out, that hank of his hair still clutched in her lil fist.

“Da-da!” Zep babbled again, reaching out for him to take him.

“Well, c’mere, chu lil runt,” Bobby chuckled. “Daddy’s enough chest to snuggle both of ya.”

Said son squealed and babbled happily as Lyric settled him in his lap, then reached out to gently touch the cheek of the lil girl he’d already been holding.

“She seems like a shy one,” the young woman chuckled as she flinched at first, then held still to let him.

“Sometimes.”

Glancing at the next gurney over, they saw her mother watching them Intently.

“Maci can be shy when she feels like it, and she’s not exactly used to having other kids her age around,” she sighed.

The young bassist couldn’t help a chuckle of his own as he admitted that Zep wasn’t used to having kids his own age around, either. Having been on a tour bus full of adults pretty much since he was born, he was no doubt excited and curious about the lil girl who’d latched onto him so strongly. It certainly explained him putting his sense of touch to work by caressing her face and playing with the lil bit of Coppery hair on her head.

Bobby turned his attention to his girlfriend, knowing she was curious about his hand and why on Earth he hadn’t even managed to leave before getting dragged right back into the ER. She was glad to hear that his hand was certainly doing better than over the weekend, which was proven when Dr. Lacy unwrapped it to double-check it after his spill outside. However, she couldn’t bite back a groan, nor an eye-roll, when he told her that the daddy in him’d simply jumped into action without even thinking. After all, it was that or just stand back and watch helplessly as mother and daughter got turned into pancakes right in front of him.

Luckily, his most recent X-ray proved that no worse damage’d been done to his neck and upper back than what it’d sustained in a motorcycle wreck a few Years ago, before he’d met Lyric. He was still told to just take it easy for a few Days, not to mention keep his neck supported properly when he was laying down. To be honest, he could do with keeping it supported while sitting up, too, but they couldn’t exactly force him into wearing a cervical collar once he left the ER.

Finally discharged and actually ready to go, he was glad to glance down and see that baby Maci’d dozed off against his chest while they were awaiting his X-rays results. That’d no doubt make detaching her and Returning her to her mother that much easier since she wouldn’t be awake to start screaming again. He was gentle about rescuing his hair from her lil fist, her mother approaching from her own gurney to take her, now that she’d been deemed in relative good Health. But before he let her turn and walk away, he scribbled something on a scrap of paper that he tucked into her free hand. He said that he wouldn’t be home for a while, but she could give him a call and leave her number, and they’d see about coming back out to let their kids play sometime after he’d gotten off the road and had some Time to relax.

Lyric couldn’t help the Serene smile on her face as he scooped Zep more securely against his chest, the lil guy having dozed off, himself. She was just as ready to get back to the hotel as her man was, even if it was for a slightly different reason than his. Besides, she was just glad to know he was all right, even if he _was_ a lil more banged-up and bruised than he’d been earlier that Morn. They both knew that bumps, bruises, and even broken bones’d Heal, if given enough Time–he was just lucky that diving to save that woman and _her_ baby hadn’t gotten him killed. Now that he was back under her watchful eye, though, the young woman was gonna make sure that Bobby followed his doctor’s orders, rather than getting himself in trouble once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely _NOT_ quite how I'd originally Intended this chapter to go, but I blame it on writing while stupid-tired. Writing in that condition, I blame on my Birth Creature, though–the woman thinks our house's an industrial walk-in cooler, which can make it hard to sleep sometimes, and the Weather lately ain't helping that.
> 
> But I can still work with what I wrote–it just won't be till sometime tomorrow. Even if it takes quite a while longer, I'll eventually be able to write more–and I fully Intend to take advantage of my quiet Time tomorrow.  
> ~Firefly


	10. Nine

It took band, manager, and crew alike only three more shows–including the one in Cincinnati on the third–to realize that the rest of the tour was gonna have to be canceled. When Bobby wasn’t on his painkiller, his hand–especially his thumb–hurt too badly for him to play, but being on it impaired him too much. Or instead of impairing him too much, _per sé,_ it’d make him so drowsy that he’d sit on the couch in the front lounge and fall asleep with his guitar or bass still in his lap.

During their show in Columbus on the fifth, they’d tried having him and Lyric swap places since she’d proven to be such a virtuoso. They all figured that if they switched places and he was playing piano for the Night, that’d go a lil better for them, but unfortunately, no dice there, either. He’d to use his thumbs so much for a lotta the notes in his piano riffs that he managed to keep up better, but was in even more pain afterward.

Not only were they running into problems left and right from Bobby’s broken hand, not to mention having an infant that kept his parents hopping all the Time, but CC’s cocaine problem was getting even worse. Even the young woman barking at them to cut it out all the Time–even going so far as to use her man’s idea of quite literally slamming their heads together–got him and Bret to cut it out. But the last straw for even their manager was when they’d gotten into it and the young woman’d gone to break it up–only to take punchesta both her cheek _and_ throat. She’d quite the shiner blooming around her left eye and across her left cheek mere minutes afterward, and she sounded like she’d been sick for months after getting punched in the throat.

There wasn’t a doubt in any of their minds that Bret and the guitarist felt horrible about hitting her, considering that neither’d meant to, but enough was finally enough. If they were willing to get into a fight like that–with each other, or some combination of their rhythm section–and even accidentally hit a woman, they were so determined to fight, they needed to be separated. However, the only way to truly separate them besides sending one to his bunk and making the other stay in the front lounge–kill the tour early. None of them truly wanted to, ’cuz they loved what they did, but there were too many deciding factors all piled together.

“I’m not letting ya nitwits keep getting into fights like that,” Howie snapped, having finally called a band meeting so he could put his foot down. “Not only’re ya gonna really hurt _yourselves,_ but you’re gonna hurt _Bobby_ by making him feel like _he’s_ to jump in to protect his girl.”

Bobby couldn’t help a warning growl as he hugged said girl, the action looking equal parts protective and possessive to the trio of blondes and all their crew.

“And that’s just gonna make _me_ get even more violent when I’ve to step in _again_ to defend him once he fucks up his hand to the point that he can’t really defend himself,” she managed to croak.

“Guys, they’re right,” the drummer sighed. “We’ve pretty much been tripping over each others’ nuts and our own for four Years straight–it’s past high-Time we got away from each other for more than a couple weeks or months.”

“The fuck’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Bret snapped.

“Not that we should disband, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he answered. “No, more like we need a longer break between the End of a tour and getting back in the studio. After that, I think we should try a shorter tour–maybe a Year instead of two, and definitely with longer breaks between each leg, if we’re going overseas.”

“Capitol idea, Rik,” Lyric chuckled, her voice still sounding off. “But that’s something that can be thought over and discussed later.”

“She’s definitely right.” Even their manager nodded. “’Cuz while it’s always good to think ahead, we can’t get _too_ far ahead of ourselves, here.”

“Fine, whatever–just lemme outta here so we can go home, if you’re _that_ insistent on killing the tour,” the vocalist grumbled.

He didn’t exactly give anyone Time to protest before heading back to the bunk room so he could clear out his bunk and pack up his personal belongings. Even the young bassist couldn’t help shaking his head as he and his girl headed off to their bedroom to do the same for themselves and Zep. There was no way he’d have admitted that his band was comprised of a bunch of immature lil boys who could miraculously get it up this Time last Year. But fatherhood and finding a level-headed, sensible girlfriend had done Wonders for making him realize a few things, and that was just one of them.

_Los Angeles, California_

After jumping a ferry to cross Lake Michigan since–for some weird reason–the closest airport to their tour stop in Mears wasn’t open, everybody’d boarded a flight outta Milwaukee. They didn’t find out till after they’d boarded that–even with a layover and connecting flight–their total Time in the Air was around five and a-half hours. If they’d managed to get a flight straight outta Michigan to LAX, they’d have been in the Air for _nine_ hours, even though they’d no connecting flights that way.

Stepping outta LAX with their personal bags and Zep’s carrier, Bobby was just glad that they were so closeta home. Even twenty miles–which equated to about half an hour in a cab, provided traffic was decent–was pushing his limit on the amount of Insanity he could handle. He and Rikki were the only two besides their manager and crew who could be put anywhere near each other, if they weren’t heading somewhere besides Los Angeles. Their Melody section’d to be split up–one up in first-class, the other back in coach–if they were gonna be put on the same flight. If they weren’t, there wasn’t a doubt in any of their minds they’d wind up having to make an emergency landing somewhere along the way so they could be arrested and taken off the plane.

Luckily for the Romantically-involved pair, traffic actually wasn’t too bad, even though it was early-Morn and the Morn Rush Hour was just getting started good. A thirty-minute straight shot up the four-oh-five saw them being dropped off in the driveway outside the young bassist’s home without incident. The cabbie was actually the one to run the young woman off with the baby, saying he’d help her man bring their bags up. He’d taken notice of the thick bandage wrapped around one of his hands, and he refused to let either of them carry more than they had to.

“Ya really didn’t have to do that, sir,” Bobby chuckled. “We’d have managed eventually.”

“Ask your girl when ya get inside–that just ain’t the way things’re done in the South,” the cabbie laughed.

“How’dja–” he started to ask, only getting cut off when he held up a gentle hand.

“If that girl ain’t from North Carolina, Tennessee, Georgia, or Alabama, I’ll suck my own big toe,” he told him.

“North Carolina, but half my family’s from Tennessee.”

Turning to look behind him, he saw Lyric Returning from settling his son for the rest of his nap upstairs.

“Good thing I didn’t make a bet with your man, huh? ’Cuz he’d be having to pay up, if I had,” the cabbie chuckled.

“Damn good thing, Mark,” she agreed, taking notice of the name stitched into his uniform shirt. “But I know why you’d to guess four different States.”

“And why’s that, sweetheart?” Bobby asked curiously.

“’Cuz even though I’m from North Carolina, myself and half my family’s from Tennessee, I’ve been told all my Life that I sound like I’m from Georgia,” the young woman answered with a mischievous grin. “It was only within the last couple Years my long-haul trucker of an uncle started swearing I sounded more like a native ’Bama Belle, though.”

“I caught a lotta Tennessean, maybe a lil Georgian, but not the others,” Mark admitted.

“My pappaw was from Tennessee, but a lotta his family’s spread out pretty much from North Carolina to Alabama, last I heard,” Lyric told him.

“Yep, you’re definitely from Tennessee–or know someone who is!” he laughed. “Don’t nobody use the terms _mammaw_ and _pappaw,_ unless one of those two’re the case.”

“I’ll explain it in a minute, love,” the young woman chuckled, taking in her boyfriend’s confused look. “Let’s get him his fare so he can head out to the next job while he’s in a good mood.”

Nodding, he pulled his wallet outta his back pocket so he could settle their tab, unable to help a wince since his hand was still beyond sore. Once that was taken care of, the couple were able to head into the house so they could start unpacking and doing mundane things like checking their answering machine. Doubtless there were a ton of messages that needed Return calls made to whoever’d left them, and one was no doubt gonna be his mother.

As Lyric did the majority of their unpacking–which was mostly separating dirty laundry from what was still clean so it could be washed–he headed over to start checking their messages. Sure enough, three of the ones waiting for him in particular were from his mother and older siblings, Butch and Patty. They were all wanting to know how things were going on his tour–not to mention in his personal Life–and he knew he’d a lotta explaining to do. Considering that he’d just gotten home and wasn’t feeling up to doing such a thing yet, he left those alone as a reminder to himself for later. However, there was a fourth message that was pretty quick to catch even his girlfriend’s attention, and it soon became obvious why.

_“Hi, my name’s Casey_ – _I’m looking for a guy named Rob Kuykendall,”_ the message started off. _“We met at the ER in Cincinnati when my daughter, Maci, started playing with his hair in the waiting area.”_

“Well, seems like she was pretty quick on getting in touch with us,” the young woman chuckled.

“Seems like,” Bobby agreed with a chuckle of his own. Even though his hand was killing him, he was quick to grab a pen and piece of paper to write down the phone number she rattled off moments later.

_“I look forward to hearing from ya soon, and so does Maci! Take care, and we’ll talk once ya get a chance!”_ Casey said before there was a _click!_ that signaled her hanging up.

“I’m kinda thinking about just inviting her out here,” the young bassist said. “I dunno about you, but I’m just not feeling up to flying back out to the Midwest right now.”

“Same here, butcha gotta remember–like me before I met _you,_ she might not be able to afford such a thing,” Lyric pointed out.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t offer to pay for her flight–both ways–for her, though,” he retorted. “It’s up to her whether she takes me up on it or not.”

“True enough,” the young woman agreed. “I just wanted to make sure ya remembered that not all of us’re rock stars with a root cellar full of expendable money at our disposal.”

“I’d like to think I’m not _that_ stupid, love,” Bobby laughed, leaning down for a quick kiss. “Not after growing up as poor as you, maybe more so.”

“Well, so would I, but one never knows,” she told him, a cheeky grin splitting her face.

Rolling his eyes, the young bassist stole the kiss he was after before heading down to the kitchen so he could start on a quick breakfast for them. If he was lucky, he’d be able to Return Casey’s call while he was doing that, considering that he was one of the lucky ones able to afford a phone with speaker phone capabilities. As long as he stayed relatively closeta the counter were said phone lived, she oughta be able to make out anything he said relatively well. No one could say he wasn’t a multitasker like that, even if he was still young enough that he wasn’t quite a master at it yet.

Deciding to go with pancakes this Morn since they’d be easy enough to give Zep a few bites of, he hauled everything he’d need over to the table in the breakfast nook. That was about as close as he could get to the phone, but still have enough room to measure out and mix ingredients. If he didn’t do that, he’d either wind up dropping something from having a tiny counter, or wind up across the room where it’d be hard to hear him.

_“Hello?”_

“Hi–Casey, right?” he asked after hearing the same voice as the one that’d left the message he’d gotten.

_“This is she,”_ the woman answered. _“Might I ask who’s calling?”_

“It’s Rob Kuykendall,” Bobby chuckled.

_“Oh, Rob_ – _I didn’t think I’d be hearing from ya this soon!”_ she laughed.

“Yeah, I didn’t think I’d be getting home this soon, either,” the young bassist agreed. “But long story short, too many tour-stopping factors all combined at once, so we decided to kill the tour I was on early.”

_“If you’re in that band, Poison, there’s already news and magazine articles about it,”_ Casey told him. _“Can’t say I listen to that band much, but the headline caught my eye when I made a quick trip to the store this Morn while I was in the checkout line.”_

“Yeah, that’s my band,” he sighed. “Not getting into the other guys’ problems outta Respect for them and all, but like I said–a few too many bad ingredients got thrown into the mixing bowl, and we wound up with one _really_ bad cake, so to speak.”

_“Well,_ that’s _certainly a Creative analogy,”_ the woman laughed.

“Hey, I love cooking, and I’m kinda in the middle of working on breakfast for my lil family,” Bobby chuckled.

_“I can letcha go, if you’re busy,”_ she said, sounding a bit sheepish.

“Nah, it’s all right–that’s why I invested part of my hard-earned money in a landline that actually has speaker phone like you’d find in a high-fluting business exec’s office,” the young bassist told her.

“Ahhhh, _that explains why ya sound a lil muffled,”_ Casey mused.

“Yeah, tried to get as closeta the phone as possible,” he told her. “It’d be worse, if I was across the room at the island like I normally am when I’m cooking.”

Getting their call back on track as he worked on mixing up his batter, Bobby laid out his offer for her just as his girlfriend came back up from the basement. With the laundry room down there off the hallway that led to what was described as a playroom, but he considered more of a second or third living room, he’d no doubt why she’d have gone down there. Even still, he more or less ignored her aside from looking up and nodding to acknowledge that he knew she was there, which earned him a Return nod.

The woman he was on the phone with was a lil dubious about letting him pay for her and her daughter to fly out to California. He laughed and assured her that he wouldn’t have made the offer, if he couldn’t afford it, even with the hospital bills he’d incurred a couple weeks ago due to his hand. Still, he reminded her that it was completely up to her, but that it’d be a while before he felt up to heading back out East, if she didn’t.

_“Well, I mean_ – _if you’re sure,”_ Casey said, still sounding reluctant.

“A hundred percent positive,” the young bassist chuckled. “And don’t worry about hotels, or anything like that–I’ve so much extra room, part of me still asks why the hell I bought a house this big sometimes.”

_“Really, now?”_ she asked with a chuckle of her own.

“Let’s just say that–if it wouldn’t be overwhelming to my psyche–I could have my mother, siblings, nieces, and nephews out here at the same Time as you and Maci, and nobody’d be sleeping in the back yard,” Bobby laughed. “Everyone might not get a bedroom to themselves, but I think the kids’d prolly think of it like a sleepover, or going camping in Uncle Rob’s basement.”

_“My, my_ – _that’s definitely a lotta room,”_ the woman said, already sounding Awed just by trying to imagine it.

“Like I said, still makes me ask myself why I did that a couple Years later,” he told her. “But it gives me all kindsa room to do whatever I wanna, whenever I wanna, andja can’t beat that.”

_“Well, nothing beats a good view, too, if ya ask me,”_ Casey argued playfully.

“Oh, don’t remind me–that’ll make me just wanna sell this place and go back home to Florida!” the young bassist told her.

_“I was trying to figure out where you’d have gotten your accent from,”_ she laughed.

“Born in South Florida, grew up pretty evenly between there and Penn,” Bobby said. “My mom was from Florida, and after she and my dad got divorced–well, she wanted to go back home instead of staying in Penn with his family.”

_“Can’t say as I blame her,”_ the woman admitted. _“Maci’s father and I moved to Montana after we married, but I’m originally from right here in Ohio. When he got arrested for domestic assault and the charges actually stuck, I packed Maci up and came back home so I could be closer to my family.”_

“Trust me, aside from the domestic assault, I know the feeling,” he told her. “If it weren’t for meeting Lyric when I did, I’d have cashed in my chips and gone back home to Penn for at least a couple Years till I got the hang of raising Zep on my own.”

It wasn’t long before Casey was fully convinced to take him up on his offer, their phone call finally getting cut short when she said she could hear her daughter crying from her nursery. The young bassist told her to just let him know what flight she Intended to take out West, and even if she’d to pay for it herself at first, he’d make sure she got her money back once she landed. All that’d just depend on whether whatever airline she Intended to use’d let him pay for her over the phone or not, but either way, she wouldn’t be out any money already budgeted for bills and whatnot for long.

Once Lyric’d killed the call for him, she grabbed the mixing bowl he’d been using so he wouldn’t drop it due to his hand and carried it over to the island for him. She was clearly just as ready for breakfast as he was, and definitely not in the mood to be mopping pancake batter off even Stone tile right now. Leaning down to give her a quick kiss, he shooed her off to check on their son since said boy prolly wouldn’t sleep much longer.

By the Time the young woman Returned with said sleepy-eyed baby, Bobby’d fried up a perfect batch of pancakes. Since she could rarely make up her mind between the two, he’d even dumped a handful of Blueberries and chopped Strawberries into the batter. He couldn’t help a chuckle when she realized that, which made her eyes Light up as he started serving up their plates. After such a wild and crazy Tour that came to an equally crazy End, he’d do just about anything to see her smile like this, ’cuz it was all worth it.


	11. Ten

Two Days later, Bobby was just coming up from swapping out yet another load of laundry–babies were messy lil boogers, after all–when he heard the doorbell ring. Said lil mess-maker was currently upstairs getting a quick bath, even though they’d just woken up for the Morn, ’cuz he _really_ needed one after the surprise he and Lyric woke to. While she was taking care of bathtime, he’d said he’d strip the boy’s crib and get his bedding in the laundry, which was exactly what he’d done.

Considering that the door to the basement stairs was right across from the dining room archway–although not actually visible from such an angle–there was no hiding when he got to the foyer. Not that he wanted to, ’cuz he figured it was Casey and Maci at the door, and he certainly wasn’t disappointed in that assumption. Said woman seemed in Awe at seeing the front of the house already, and she appeared to be trying to peer past the glare of the front door and its sidelights. He couldn’t blame her, though–the foyer was certainly a grand and Awe-Inspiring sight, especially for those who couldn’t afford such a thing. It was that very grandeur that made him wanna tour the rest of the place, then write a check for it on the spot once he had.

“Hey there, Casey!” the young bassist chuckled as he opened the front door.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed, finally getting her first good look at the foyer.

Even her daughter’s lil jaw dropped, allowing the paci clipped to her shirt to fall outta her mouth.

“Yeah, I know–quite the Awe-Inspiring sight,” Bobby laughed. “C’mon in, and we’ll take your stuff up to one of the guest rooms.”

“Holy–my Imagination couldn’t do this place Justice, if it tried a hundred more Times!” the blonde woman laughed as she followed him inside.

“One of the many reasons I bought the place a couple Years ago,” he admitted. “Some rooms boost my Creativity–which’s always a good thing when you’re a recording artist–others just lemme kick back and unwind.”

“Seems like such a big place for one guy,” Casey mused as she followed him to the grand, curving staircase.

“Yeah, it kinda is, but it can be a good thing, too,” the young bassist told her. “I mean, my band mates all have keys, but it’s so big that not even _they_ can always find me when they decide to just let themselves in.”

“Must be a nice thing to have, then,” she chuckled.

“Well, I mean, I’ll be in the kitchen one Time, down in the basement the next,” Bobby snickered. “Or they’ll find me in the master suite one Time, hiding on the other side of the _cabaña_ the next–it all depends on the Weather and my mood.”

“Here, here!” the blonde laughed as he cut a right at the top of the stairs.

Since he’d done some serious redecorating right after he moved in, he led her to what he’d once called the _Red Room_. It was one of five bedrooms–including the master suite–that was on the second story of the house, rather than down in the basement. Alongside its own, private bathroom–something pretty much _all_ the bedrooms had–this one’d its own balcony, too. While it wasn’t nearly as big as the one off the master suite, it still afforded a person a small spot to just sit outside and enjoy the Sunrise or Sunset, whichever they preferred.

Casey nodded as he set her bags down by the bed and said he was gonna go make sure his son hadn’t turned into a lil tub monster and decided to try drowning his mama since he hadn’t heard much outta them in a lil bit. Neither were surprised when her baby girl reached out to him, clearly wanting to go with him, which made him laugh as he gladly took her. Leaving her mama to make use of the en suite bathroom since she no doubt’d to go after their flight, he headed off to the master suite with her snuggled contently against his chest, her lil head resting on his shoulder.

The second he walked through the double doors–which he left open behind him for once–Maci’s lil jaw dropped again. Even he couldn’t deny that the view of the back yard through what appeared to be a wall of glass, but was actually an accordion door was Majestic in its own right. Provided he wasn’t hungover or otherwise had a headache, it was his favorite sight to wake up to besides the Sun rising over the Atlantic.

“Are we still breathing in here?” Bobby chuckled, stepping through the doorway that led to the bigger half of the master bathroom.

_“Phooey!”_ his girlfriend said after spitting a mouthful of Water back into the tub, much to Zep’s delight. _“Your_ son apparently thinks soap tastes good!”

He couldn’t help a laugh as he gently bounced the baby in his arms, who was looking around with childlike Wonder in her eyes. _“My_ son, huh? I thought he was _our_ son since ya signed his Birth certificate.”

“I might be his legal mama, but still!” Lyric retorted, turning to shoot him a grin. “Well, well, well–I see some folks arrived in two pieces.”

“Yeah, _her_ mama’s in what used to be the _Red Room,”_ the young bassist chuckled.

“The _Red Room?”_ She cocked a brow at him.

“The one on the other side of the elevator from Zep’s room,” Bobby clarified. “It was painted bright red when I first moved in, so that’s what I started calling it, even _after_ I redecorated.”

“Hey, can’t blame ya there,” the young woman said, laughing as their son splashed her again to get her attention. “Chu lil rugrat! Mama tinks ish Time to gets out so we can go haz breakfast.”

“I’ma go let Maci have a look off the balcony since she seemed pretty enthralled by that while you’re getting him dried off and dressed,” he told her.

“Works for me, ’cuz even I can’t say it ain’t a beautiful view,” Lyric chuckled.

Heading back into what was now _their_ bedroom–which was Dominated by a California-King bed on the wall across from the fireplace–the young bassist used his good hand to unlock the balcony door. Maci seemed just as enthralled as before as she glanced down to watch him pull it partway open, which allowed him to step outside moments later.

Stepping out onto the covered balcony that overlooked mostly the pool, _cabaña,_ and open grassy spot to the right of the pool, Bobby couldn’t help a grin as her lil jaw dropped once again. Considering that this side of the house faced South, Southeast, the built-in bench he’d padded almost as soon as he’d moved in afforded him the perfect spot to watch the Sunset whenever he wanted to. None of the Palm Trees that marched up the Hill behind the _cabaña_ obstructed his view like they did from the patio downstairs, and that was one of the reasons why he loved this spot.

“Oh, my–wow.”

Grinning as he turned at hearing a feminine voice that _didn’t_ belong to Lyric, he wasn’t surprised to see that Casey’d taken the hint he’d left by leaving the master suite doors open. Said blonde was quick to join him on the balcony, seemingly just as impressed as her daughter, whose blue eyes were once again wide with childlike Wonder. He wasn’t surprised that they were both reacting more or less the same way, considering he’d once reacted similarly, himself.

“Believe it or not, the view from this balcony’s my favorite besides the Sunrise over the Atlantic,” the young bassist said. “Nothing to obstruct the Sunset whenever I wanna watch it like there is downstairs.”

“I’m guessing ya Changed the Times of Day around ’cuz of where this bench is?” Casey asked, gesturing to her left.

“Unfortunately, yeah,” he answered, nodding. “Gotta go out to the lil mini balcony off half the bathroom, if I wanna watch the Sunrise from up here– _if_ I’m even up early enough.”

“Half the bathroom?” the blonde asked, looking confused as his girlfriend and son joined them.

“Yeah, it’s split so it flanks the master suite,” Bobby answered. “You’ve what I like to call the masculine side–which hides _my_ closet–and the feminine side.”

“Both sides’ve their own showers, but only that _feminine_ side has a tub,” said girlfriend chuckled. “Not to mention a bigger shower.”

He couldn’t help a smirk as he thought about what all they could do in that bigger shower, now that they were in the house as a couple.

“Rob, behave yourself,” Lyric said, a knowing gleam in her eyes.

“What? I _am_ behaving myself!” the young bassist retorted. “I’m not saying what’s actually going through my head right now!”

“’Cuz ya know that–provided Maci ain’t in your arms–I’ma push ya down the stairs and make it look like Winnie the Pooh did it, if ya dare,” she shot back, her grin belying any true malice.

“Please, no Violence till my hand Heals!” Bobby laughed. “That hurts bad enough, as it is!”

“Well, I dunno ’bout our guests, but _this_ mama says it’s breakfast Time,” the young woman said.

Laughing again as they headed back inside so he could close and lock the balcony door again, he said that he could definitely rectify that once they got down to the kitchen. But as he let the women precede him down the stairs once they’d stepped outta the master suite, he pointed out something to their guest. There was a second staircase on the other side of the gallery from where they were that opened into a hidden lil spot outside the family room door. Depending on what part of the house she was Intent on going to, she could take that staircase instead of the main one they were taking now.

As he started down said stairs behind the womenfolk, the young bassist heard the doorbell ring again, which made his brow furrow. Other than Casey and her daughter, he wasn’t expecting anyone, so he wasn’t too sure who it coulda possibly been. He didn’t think it’d be any of the rest of his band, ’cuz even though Rikki lived right down the road, he doubted any of them’d wanna see him right now.

Getting to the bottom of the stairs, Bobby couldn’t help a laugh when he saw who was waiting outside his front door this Time. There was no mistaking the ginger version of himself, what a lotta folks swore was the female version of him–right down to her Dark hair–and the woman they’d all gotten the majority of their looks from. And he certainly wasn’t surprised by the small Gaggle of kids waiting with the trio of adults, which was bound to make his house quite a bit more lively.

“Well, well, well–look what the Cat dragged in!” he laughed, opening the front door.

“Unca Robbie!” the Gaggle of kids cried happily, all of them somehow managing to wrap their arms around either his waist or his legs.

_“Oof!”_ The young bassist chuckled as he managed to take a step back. “Watch it, chu boogers!”

“Chu _nuuuu_ wantsta hurt the babeh Uncle Rob’s holding, do chu?” This was asked by the woman who coulda been his twin, if they hadn’t been born a Year apart.

_“Nuuuu!”_ said kids cried, quickly letting go of him.

“Don’t wanna hurt Uncle Rob’s busted hand, either,” Bobby said, even the adults finally stepping in.

“What’dja do to it, lil brother?” Patty asked, finally noticing the bandage wrapped around his hand, particularly his thumb.

“Ah, ya know–Howie thought I didn’t need two handsta play anymore,” he chuckled, closing the front door with his foot. “Nah, it was an accident–he was trying to herd us together for an impromptu interview somebody set up, and my hand became a casualty when he was closing the bus door.”

“Ouch.” The ginger version of him–his older brother–couldn’t help wincing.

“You’re telling me,” the young bassist said. “Tell that to my broken thumb, fractured fingers, and the stitched wounds in the back of my hand.”

“Speaking of said wounds…” Lyric gave him a pointed look.

“Ugh–somebody start taking babies and covering their ears,” Bobby chuckled, moving to hand Maci back to her mother. “’Cuz let’s just say my language’s about to get a lil _too_ colorful for having so many boogers running around.”

“Watch it, or I’ll wash your mouth out with soap, boy.” This was said by none other than his mother.

“Trust me, Mama–when ya see what she’s about to clean, ya won’t blame me for Cursing in front of kids,” he told her.

Introducing Casey and her daughter as he herded everybody to the kitchen, the young bassist was already working on unwrapping his hand. She was certainly surprised to meet his mother and siblings, whom he admitted that he hadn’t expected to just show up. Course, maybe he _shoulda_ been since he still hadn’t gotten around to acknowledging their messages, and they’d to’ve known he was back home by now.

Catching up with his girlfriend, he saw her more or less already set up by the mini sink that was housed in the island next to the stove. He wasn’t surprised the guests he’d actually expected to arrive today were looking around in Awe, just like they’d done with the rest of the house they’d seen thus far. But that Awe was quick to morph into shocked surprise as much as what crossed his family’s faces when he got his hand unwrapped. Even as he moved to throw away the old bandage, he let out a snicker since he’d kinda been expecting such a reaction from all of them.

“Good Lord, son!” His mother, Lynda, finally exploded as she looked back up at his face.

“I toldja ya wouldn’t blame me for cussing in front of kids when she cleans it once ya saw it,” he snickered.

“How’dja wind up with this when I thoughtcha saidja broke it?” his brother, Butch, asked curiously.

“Try to imagine where those wounds’re at three Times the size it is now,” Bobby told him. “All that swelling coulda cost me my thumb and fingers, if the ER doc hadn’t filleted my hand like this.”

“Yeowch,” his sister winced, gladly taking her lil nephew.

“Again, you’re telling me,” the young bassist dead-panned. “Let’s just say I’ve a new hatred for Saltwater unless I’m swimming in it, and leave it at that.”

“Hey, it’s kept it from getting infected and been helping it Heal all this Time, hasn’t it?” Lyric chuckled.

He shot her a bemused look, even as he braced his wrist on the countertop next to the mini sink, allowing his hand to hang down into it. Whether that was true or not, it didn’t mean he’d to like the burn–even though it meant the Salt was killing any bacteria _trying_ to infect his wounds–which made his hand twitch. And it was that same twitch-inducing burn that always made him cuss like a sailor, which was why they usually tried to do this part before even Zep was awake.

The young woman braced her own hand on his wrist, which pressed a pressure point right into the edge of the counter and kept him from jerking away. As everyone else watched, she started pouring the Saltwater she’d mixed up over the back his hand a lil at a Time. Just like always, he sucked in a sharp breath through his nose that made his nostrils flare as his hand stiffened so that he looked like he’d claws he was letting out. Seconds later, a torrent of Curses–a few of which were Italian and taught to him by his girlfriend–flew outta his mouth as he still tried to get away. But her hand pressing his wrist into the countertop thwarted that attempt, forcing him to let her continue till she’d thoroughly cleaned his wounds.

“Fuck!” Bobby spat once she finally released his wrist.

“I better not hear any of those dirty words coming outta any mini mouths,” his girlfriend warned the kids in a no-nonsense tone. “’Cuz I’ma do worse than Mammaw Lynda will, if I do.”

“I’m not sure what’s worse than washing their mouths out with soap,” said middle-aged woman chuckled.

“Try a mouthful of vinegar–much more effective, believe it or not,” she laughed.

“Really?” Patty asked, her eyes widening in surprise.

“My own mother tried both methods with me–not that either worked for long, as filthy as my mouth is now,” the young woman answered. “Outta the two, a mouthful of vinegar worked better.”

“Huh–might have to keep that in mind for when we go back home,” she chuckled, her own kids all looking a bit afraid.

“That’s right–learn the lesson your hard-headed uncle’s _still_ learning about Auntie Lyric,” Lyric laughed.

“Nah, that’s the rest of my bone-headed band,” he grumbled, holding still as she dabbed away the excess Saltwater. “Well, maybe not Rikki– _he_ seems to’ve gotten the message as loud and clear as I have.”

“As if you’re _not_ just as bone-headed when ya wanna be,” the young woman retorted with a grin.

“I’m not touching that one with a ten-foot pole, sweetheart,” Bobby chuckled. “I might get told to sleep in the basement tonight, if I do.”

“Good boy,” she snickered. “The training’s finally sticking.”

Not even Casey could bite back a laugh at their playful bickering and teasing, which was far healthier than her relationship with her ex-husband had ever been. Judging by the smiles on their faces, this was something they did to each other all the Time, which was prolly a good thing. If they’d been in confined quarters together for nearly a Year, they needed some playful teasing and banter before they wound up fighting all the Time or some other form of negativity instead.

As Lyric was bandaging his hand again, he wasn’t surprised all the kids–even the babies–were enthralled by her actions. He also wasn’t surprised when his family asked exactly how he’d wound up meeting the baby girl and her mother since just about anything was possible. But before he could explain, baby Maci reached out and grabbed the tips of his hair at the same Time his son did, which made him grin.

Even as both babies seemed to cuddle the hanks they’d grabbed gently, but possessively, Bobby explained how the lil girl’d apparently fallen in Love with his hair in the ER. But even his family was surprised when he told them that he’d wound up saving the pair when the daddy in him simply reacted to the Sound of screeching tires. They all knew he was a genuinely good guy at heart, but none of them’d ever thought he’d throw himself in harm’s way like that for anyone but his family and loved ones. Shrugging, he reiterated that he hadn’t really thought about it–he’d just reacted, and he didn’t deny that it was mostly ’cuz of the infant girl currently playing with his hair alongside his son.

While his mother and girlfriend teamed up to make breakfast for everyone since his mother insisted he not do anything that’d hurt his hand, he gladly settled at the island. Maci and Zep were content with sitting on the counter in front of the bar stool he sat on, their lil hands no doubt tying a metric fuck-ton of knots in his hair. Even though he knew it’d be a bitch to brush later, the young bassist didn’t bother trying to make them stop since it was keeping them quiet. If his house weren’t gonna be loud and crazy for at least a few Days, he’d have stopped them, but he wanted the quiet to last while it could.


	12. Eleven

“So, lil brother–how on Earth didja meet a character like Lyric?”

Bobby chuckled as he turned his attention from watching his girlfriend–who was goofing off with his nieces and nephews in the L-shaped pool–to his sister. His mother and brother were sitting around the Fire pit at the corner of that _L,_ while Casey was letting her daughter and his son splash on the Sun shelf near the stairs that led to the _cabaña_. Were it not for the stitches in his bandaged hand that weren’t supposed to get wet, he’d have been in the pool with the others. Not wanting to hinder the Healing of his hand so that he _could_ do such things again sooner, he’d opted for just watching from the Fire pit.

“Total chance meeting, as it were,” he chuckled in responseta his sister’s question. “The band headed out to a bar closeta one of our stops in Greensboro, North Carolina, and she was working there at the Time.”

“Fell for the barmaid–so typical of a rock star!” Patty laughed.

“Well, she was definitely one of the barmaids, but that’s not what bewitched me that Night,” the young bassist corrected her. “No, it was that somewhat literal Siren Song she turned _Something to Believe In_ into.”

“No shit?” his brother asked, looking surprised.

“If I can get her to do it again, I’ll prove it, bro,” Bobby laughed. “But she might be sick of that song after nearly a Year of singing it damn near every Night.”

Even his mother looked confused.

“When I found out she was technically homeless, I found a way to take her under my wing,” he explained. “She didn’t wanna just come with us like some kinda burden, so she handled merch before the shows and joined us onstage for a couple songs.”

“Really?” Lynda couldn’t help but look impressed.

“’Cuz I’ma virtuoso, to use as few words as possible!”

Glancing back at the pool, the young bassist couldn’t help laughing as he saw Lyric at the corner of the pool, her arms crossed on the pool deck. No doubt she’d heard what he was telling his mother and siblings from that short distance, if her knowing smirk was anything to judge by. He knew she didn’t care about him singing her praises like that, even if a shit-ton of praise tended to fluster her a bit.

“She not only took that song to a whole new level on vocals that Night, but she was playing my piano riff at the same Time,” Bobby continued. “The next Morn–or rather, afternoon–she put Bret to shame by playing _his_ rhythm riff on a six-string instead of a twelve-string.”

“Well, I’ll be…” his mother chuckled, purposely cutting herself off so she could watch her mouth in front of the kids.

“He’s not kidding about me being a bit of a Siren, though,” she admitted from where she was undoubtedly treading Water. “He’s not the first guy I’ve left in an–ahem, embarrassing situation, and I doubt he’ll be the last that happens to.”

Butch burst out laughing at the Thought of his baby brother winding up having to hide Wood just from hearing a girl sing, which just earned him a good-Natured elbow to the ribs.

“That’s definitely putting it lightly,” the young bassist agreed.

Lyric simply grinned as he admitted that hearing the first few notes she’d plunked out on that keyboard that first Night’d definitely caught his attention. Then again, he’d have to be about fifteen special kindsa stupid _not_ to recognize one of his own band’s songs, which happened to be relatively popular. But when she’d opened her mouth and started singing–well, he couldn’t really describe it other than to say something along the lines of Siren or angel certainly fit the bill.

Bobby smirked and crossed his legs as he nodded to her, knowing full well that even if he joined her, he was gonna react exactly as she’d accused him of. He just couldn’t help himself whenever he heard those sweet, but incredibly high notes float outta her mouth–which was incredibly talented in other ways, too. Course, by her own admission, he wasn’t the only guy who’d ever been affected like that when they heard her singing.

Once they’d run through the song in question, which even caught Casey’s and the babies’ ears, the young woman laughed as she pushed herself up so she could crawl onto the pool deck. Shooting her man a devious grin, she said that he’d prolly had the very reaction she’d mentioned earlier, her suspicion confirmed by how he blushed adorably and squirmed a bit. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that his crossed legs were now hiding his boner, which woulda been uncomfortably obvious in the gym shorts he was wearing. But her grin somehow only grew even more devious, and his eyes widened since he wasn’t sure _what_ was coming next.

“Now, if he thinks _that_ was bad, Rob better hope he never hears me singing the title song of this last album,” she snickered.

“Oh, Gods–not if it sounds half as good or bad as when ya do _Talk Dirty to Me,”_ the young bassist groaned.

“Do I even wanna know?” Patty asked with a laugh.

“Her voice takes on this really breathy tone,” he explained. “I’d call it the vocal version of _bedroom eyes,_ if that makes any sense.”

She snickered as she took a breath, none of the kids paying attention at the moment.

“Grah, no!” Bobby clamped his hands over his ears, said hands hidden under his hair.

_“Ya know I never…I never seen ya look so good_ – _ya never act the way you should… But I like it…and I know you like it, too…the way that I want you… I gotta have you_ – _oh, yes, I do!”_ the young woman sang, careful to keep her volume down as she pulled one of his hands away from his head.

_“Nuuuu,”_ the young bassist practically whimpered, his mom and siblings biting back laughter at how his pupils dilated, despite how bright it was outside.

_“Ya know I never…I never, ever stay out late_ – _ya know that I can hardly wait…just to see you… And I know you cannot wait…a-wait to see me, too… I gotta have you, ’cuz baby, we’ll be…”_ she continued, enjoying watching him squirm.

“Mercy,” he begged, trying to get his hand back. “Mercy, I beg of ya, woman!”

_“…at the drive-in, in the old man’s Ford_ – _behind the bushes_ – _till I’m screamin’ for more… Down the basement_ – _lock the cellar door, and baby…talk dirty to me,”_ Lyric sang, somehow managing not to crack up.

Unfortunately, none of the other adults’d any Success in biting back their laughter at his reactions anymore, even Casey cracking up from where she’d been listening on the Sun shelf. None of them could deny that she definitely had a killer, if maddening voice, and they all admitted that they could see why she’d all but Entranced Bobby that first Night. To be quite honest, his relatives all thought she could prolly outdo Bret, were she to ever put her mind to it and actually try.

“Oh, I already _can,”_ the young woman laughed. “Depending on the song, I can sound identical to him, if ya don’t count the country twang.”

“Now this, I gotta hear,” Butch chuckled.

“Then I’ll be niceta Rob and _not_ go with _Good Love,”_ she snickered.

“Thank the Gods,” said young bassist sighed. “’Cuz I can’t take that one right now without embarrassing myself or getting into trouble, even though it’s one of your favorites.”

Lyric simply smirked as she took another breath. “Even the kiddos can join in on this one, if they know it.”

“Ah, one of the tamer, more family-friendly songs,” Lynda chuckled.

_“Mmm hmm.”_ She nodded as she turned her smirk on her boyfriend. _“Wheeeennnn…”_

_“I hear the Music…Lawd gon’ let it plaaaay…”_ Bobby couldn’t resist joining her, ’cuz this was actually one of _his_ favorites, too.

_“Somethin’ like that,”_ the young woman said, amazing everyone with how much like Bret she really could sound.

As his nieces and nephews scrambled outta the pool, Casey deciding to head over with the babies, Lyric gently tapped out CC’s intro riff on his knee. No doubt she was essentially counting herself in, which made him chuckle under his breath as he used his good hand to tap out the bass riff on the opposite forearm. If it helped her since they weren’t actually playing it right now, he was all for it, as long as she quit tormenting him.

_“Didja ever get up on the wrong side of bed with an achin’ head and just fall apart?”_ she sang. _“You’re runnin’ late, the boss is bitchin’, it’s cold outside, and the car won’t start… Well, I don’t mean to bitch, I swear, ’cuz we all got our crossta bear…”_

_“But when I hear the Music, all my troubles just fade away_ – _when I hear the Music, let it play, gotta let it play… When I hear the Music, sure as Darkness, I can see the Day_ – _when I hear the Music, let it play…let it plaaaay!”_

“Wow, ya really _do_ sound like Bret on certain songs,” Patty laughed after they’d rounded out the chorus.

“Same thing happens on _Nothin’ but a Good Time,_ too,” the young woman chuckled. “But that one ain’t quite as family-friendly, so I decided not to go with that one.”

“I gotta say, if Poison did more songs like the one ya were just singing, I’d listen to them more,” Casey piped up from where she’d settled at their feet with the kids.

“Well, we’re not all partying and _other_ adult themes, hint hint,” Bobby told her. “One of our other tunes from _Open Up_ – _Back to the Rocking Horse_ –is basically talking about wanting to go back to childhood when things were easier ’cuz we didn’t have a care in the World.”

“Not to mention _Every Rose,_ which’s talking about pain coming alongside Love and vice versa,” his girlfriend said.

“There’s plenty of others we could list that talk about various aspects of Life,” he chuckled. “But we’re not gonna make ya feel forced to listen to my band’s stuff just ’cuz ya know me.”

“That’s not the way I operate–albeit for a totally different reason I talk about with only select people–and I refuseta be involved with a guy who operates the opposite,” Lyric told her. “So, if he thinks he’s gonna do that–whether with his band’s Music or something else–he can watch me walk out the door and not come back aside from visiting Zep since I’m his mama, as far as anyone’s concerned.”

The young bassist grabbed her in a possessive hug, almost like she was his favorite childhood teddy bear or something, and pulled her down into his lap. He wasn’t shy in admitting that she’d given him a reason to believe in Love and just the general good in humanity again, and he wasn’t letting go of that very easily. On the same token, he’d given her a reason to believe in the same things again, and she wasn’t any more willing to give that up without a fight of her own. Maybe they’d quite a fight ahead of them to put up, mostly in part due to him being part of an active band that was going through quite a bit, but they were both more than willing to put up that fight and then some.

Later that Eve, after getting the babies put to bed in Zep’s room–which was where Casey’d set up her daughter’s playpen since the lil girl didn’t wanna sleep anywhere but with her playmate–and the rest of the kids settled in the basement, the adults were relaxing under the _cabaña_. The baby monitor they used for the infant boy’d a ridiculously long range, and that was the only thing that convinced Casey to join them. Just like he’d suspected when he’d Returned her call a couple Days ago, the young bassist’s nieces and nephews were looking at bunking in the basement like having a sleepover. Even though there were three bedrooms in the basement–two of which were connected–they’d insisted on spreading out pallets in the playroom and basically camping out.

Since it was relatively warm out, Bobby hadn’t bothered lighting the fireplace out here so that nobody got too hot. But that hadn’t stopped him from turning on the Lights so they were set to their dimmest setting, which allowed them to see each other clearly without hurting anyone’s eyes. He and Lyric were lounging in the hammock he’d strung up in one of the side archways, the one closest to the grassy patch he eventually Intended to put a playset for Zep in when he was older.

Everyone else was settled in various patio chairs that were strategically placed around the fireplace for during the Winter. Pretty much all their backs were facing the house, but he and Lyric’d a relatively clear view of the patio on the far side of the pool. While they’d a better view of the doors that opened into the dining room and breakfast nook, they’d still be able to see if any of the kids ran out the door that opened into the family room on the other side of the kitchen. So far, all seemed Calm and relaxed within the house, ’cuz none of the kids’d come running out any of those doors, and the baby monitor was more or less Silent.

“I gotta say, this is definitely a pretty relaxing place for being in the middle of a big City,” the lone blonde chuckled.

“For being in the middle of the City, yeah,” his girlfriend agreed. “Now, where I’m from–well, I may not like a lotta the people there, if only ’cuz I’m prolly somehow related to the vast majority, but nothin’ beats being out in the country listening to nothin’ but Crickets chirping and the Wind blowing.”

“Kinda what I’ve to say about being out on the Beach, especially in South Florida,” Bobby said with a chuckle of his own. “Even though I know She’s dangerous–which I’ve the utmost Respect for–ya just can’t beat the pull in the ebb and flow of Mother Ocean.”

“She’s definitely powerful, I’ll give her that,” she agreed. “But then again, Mother Earth at large’s a powerful being unto herself.”

“WhyddaI get the feeling you’re not just talking about the Land and Sea in a scientific way?” his sister asked.

“’Cuz we’re not,” Lyric laughed. “Ties into what I was talking about earlier when I said I do nothing by force and refuseta be with a guy who acts like that, though.”

“Then we’re not gonna ask,” Butch assured her.

“I don’t mind talking about it–I just don’t unless I’m sure the person I’m talking to is relatively open-minded,” she said.

Bobby rubbed her back as she rolled onto her side and tossed her left leg over his right so she could see the others, already knowing what she was talking about.

“My accent pretty much gives away that I was raised in the heart of the Bible Belt.” The young woman rolled her eyes, even as she chuckled. “But while I’ve no problem with others being Christian, if that’s what suits ’em, I’m _not.”_

Casey, his mother, and his siblings all looked surprised and even a bit confused, said relatives reaching up to play with the cross pendants on their necklaces. They hadn’t failed to notice that he wasn’t wearing his own customary cross all Day, but they’d figured he’d stopped wearing it as Zep got older to keep the boy from accidentally choking him. Now, though–well, they were starting to get the feeling that there was more than just that sensible reason behind such a Change.

“My mother was raised with minimal involvement in her pappaw’s church, but that church sealed her Fate when it came to her choice religion,” Lyric explained. “At the age of twelve, she basically got told she’d to dress like women of decades and Centuries past just ’cuz she was female, and as Spirited as she and I both are, she didn’t like that.”

“That’s a choice someone should make on their own, not ’cuz someone else tells them to,” Butch growled. “That’s not the way of a true Christian _at all.”_

“Well, the fact that her pappaw was more interested in dumping money into this church than taking care of his family–that included actually turning on the fuckin’ AC when it was blazing hot out–didn’t sit well with her, either,” the young woman continued. “At the age of sixteen, she started looking into other religions–and found her Calling within that of Paganism.”

“You’re talking about _literal_ Witchcraft, right?” Patty asked, looking surprised.

_“Mmm hmm.”_ She nodded. “I was raised in a Pagan household _by_ a Pagan.”

Even his mother’s eyes widened, which made the young bassist chuckle under his breath.

“Love or hate her for everything she did to me growing up, raising me under those religious–or rather, Spiritual–choices was prolly one of the best things my mother ever did for me,” Lyric said. “Maybe the things I believe in aren’t the same as what y’all do, maybe they are–and if they _are,_ maybe not for the same reasons.”

“Like what, for instance?” Lynda asked. She sounded curious, but dubious.

“Well, what comes after Death’s a good example, especially for an Air Witch like me since Death falls into my Realm,” she answered, making sure not to hurt her boyfriend as she braced her elbow on his shoulder to hold her head up.

The young woman explained that–unlike an Atheist, who believed in no Higher Power _or_ Afterlife–they all believed in both those things. It was what they _called_ those two things and why that differed between the two religions, which was perfectly okay. One of her biggest examples of that was actually her own name, which caught Bobby’s attention since this was something she hadn’t told even him.

As it turned out, Lyric was just her middle name–her given name was actually Elysia, but was still every bit as Greek as her middle name. When the meanings were put together in a comprehensible sentence, her name meant _Lyre from Elysium,_ Elysium being an Afterlife of Greek origin. Whether called Elysium or the _Elysian Fields,_ it was the same place, one that everybody thought of much the same way as many Christians thought of Heaven, or whatever was really beyond those Pearly Gates.

Initially separate from the Realm of Hades, admission was supposedly reserved for mortals related to the Gods and other heroes, such as Hercules. Later, it expanded to include those chosen by the Gods, the righteous, and the heroic, where they’d remain after Death. There, they were said to live a Blessed and happy Life, and even indulge in whatever employment they’d enjoyed in Life. The Welsh Avalon–which translated to _Apple Land_ –was thought of very similarly, especially within the legends of King Arthur.

“Now, the Ancient Irish _Tir-na-Nog’s_ a lil different, depending on which translation of its name ya subscribe to,” Lyric said.

“How so?” All their guests seemed as enthralled as the young bassist, himself was.

“Well, the first translation I ever read is the _Land of Women,”_ she explained. “That comes from the Ancient Irish female-worship, wherein they considered only women to inhabit the Land of the Dead due to all human Souls being reabsorbed into the wombs that bore ’em after their physical Deaths.”

“Okay, that’s a bit of a weird Thought,” Bobby laughed. “’Cuz sorry, not sorry, Mama, but I can’t imagine being reabsorbed by ya after I die.”

Casey and his siblings cracked up at that admission, although they’d to agree that he made a solid point.

“Now, the other translation of _Tir-na-Nog_ happensta be _Land of the Young,_ or _Land of Youth,”_ the young woman continued once they’d all Calmed down again. “And what’s one common thread about the belief of an Afterlife in religions the World over?”

“That one’s Eternally young once they go there,” his brother answered without missing a beat.

“Bingo.” Lyric shot him a grin. “In that manner, we find that Paganism and Christianity really aren’t that different at their core.”

“What’s another similarity?” Patty asked curiously.

“Well, technically duality,” she answered. “By that, I mean a male and female Supreme Being, for lack of a better term to apply to ’em.”

Even Lynda cocked a brow curiously.

“In Paganism, you’ve the God and the Goddess–they’re the co-Creators of all, if y’all will,” the young woman explained. “In Christianity, we find the parents of Jesus, Joseph and Mary.”

Lyric explained how the term _Mother Earth_ or _Earth Mother_ referred to the Earth, itself and how it supported all forms of Life. It was essentially the womb that bore all, from microscopic bacteria and other microorganismsta each and every one of them. At the same Time, the Sky was considered the Great Father in a way, the Rains and heat it brought acting as a fertilizer for Mother Earth much the same way that a man wasta a woman when he fathered a pregnancy.

“Even the concept of Time falls within the Realm of Air,” she said. “It’s just one of a multitude of things, a few others being Death, Ghosts and other invisible beings, Music and other Sounds, and even aromas.”

“Hence why a lotta folks think of _Father Time_ as a man in the Sky,” Bobby mused.

“No, that’s actually ’cuz of the Greek God of Time, Chronos, to whom the Roman God Janus is pretty similar,” the young woman laughed. “They were often depicted similarly–an old, wise man with a long, gray beard.”

“Okay, my brain’s starting to hurt,” he chuckled. “I dunno how ya memorized all this shit.”

“Whyddaya think I’ve so many headaches?” Lyric snickered. “It’s my brains ready to ’splode from my skull ’cuz of all the shit I’ve read about and memorized on top of all my musical Knowledge.”

“All right–so, ya rattled off some of the stuff that Air presides over.” His brother leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Something tells me that Earth, Fire, and Water rule over different things much the same way.”

“’Cuz when thought of as one of the Five Elements–Spirit being the fifth, before ya ask–they _do,”_ she told them.

The main things that those on the Earth Path tended to herald over the most were Past-Life discovery, Prosperity, Fertility, and something called _Protection magick_. At the same Time, those on the Water Path heralded over Healing, Cleansing, Beauty, Emotions, Intuition, and Energy at large. What fell within the Realm of Fire was bonding with Divinity, Regeneration, Energy, Truth, Manifesting, something called _Sex magick,_ Banishing, Purification, Destruction, _Negative magick,_ and _Defensive magick_. Granted, that was just keeping the list for each Element as short as she possibly could, ’cuz each Element heralded over a lotta different things. Even various Life stages were ruled by an Element much the same way the individual Seasons were all ruled by one.

“As one of my favorite Witchy books says, _while Water’s Creation, Earth’s Rebirth, and Air’s Death, Fire’s the Divine Spark of it all,”_ Lyric chuckled.

“Now, that honestly makes no sense,” Casey said.

“Think about it this way–Earth rules the Spring, Fire rules the Summer, Air rules the Autumn, and Water rules the Winter,” she told them. “Gotta have Water for thingsta grow once it starts warming up, right?”

“True enough,” the lone ginger agreed with a nod.

“Plants sprouting essentially signifies the Earth coming back to Life for the Year, correct? Summer’s when we’re all outside and getting shit done ’cuz it’s finally warm enough, and Autumn’s when the Earth dies for the Year before the cold of Winter Returns and the cycle starts over,” the young woman said.

“What about the Life stages ya were talking about, though?” Bobby couldn’t help cocking a brow at her curiously.

“Well, Earth’s said to rule old age, while Air’s said to rule infancy,” Lyric answered. “Personally, I think those two’re backward, considering the respective Seasons those Elements rule over.”

“Huh,” he grunted, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Fire’s said to rule Youth, which makes sense, considering how bright and vibrant the young tend to be,” the young woman continued. “And Water’s said to rule maturity, ’cuz whaddaya think of when ya think of a grown, mature adult? Calm, Serenity, Tranquility–things all associated with the Element of Water.”

When it was put like that, even Lynda couldn’t help but ponder her words a lil more deeply than she’d ever pondered her religious beliefs before. She laughed as she said that no Witch ever converted by force, unlike Christianity–which’d started with the Catholic overthrow of Paganism–but rather by educating the ignorant. That was why she talked about her Spiritual choices with only those who were relatively open-minded, which her boyfriend most certainly was.

Bobby chuckled as his relatives turned curious looks on him, not the least bit ashamed to say that she’d more or less converted him already. Something about the Christian beliefs he’d been raised under fit, but at the same Time, they _didn’t_ fit anymore. Reading through some of her books–one of which was aptly entitled _Elemental Witch_ –he’d found that he connected with the Elements of Air and Water the most. He supposed Air topped his list due to the level of Creativity he possessed, ’cuz that was yet another thing that particular Element ruled over. At the same Time, though, he’d a Love for the Sea and all its Mysteries that simply couldn’t be explained much the same way his girlfriend possessed a Love for Space and all _its_ Mysteries.

He said that he thought his Secondary Element was prolly Water due to Water being the Element that ruled his Zodiac sign, which was Scorpio. Granted, that struck him as a bit odd since Scorpio was said to be ruled by the Planets Mars and Pluto, the Gods those Planets were named after being the Gods of War and the Underworld in both Greek and Roman Mythology.

Lyric grinned as she said that the Element that ruled _her_ Zodiac sign–which happened to be Libra–was the same as her Primary Element. But unlike her boyfriend, her Secondary Element was that of Fire, which made them a fairly Balanced compliment to the other. They understood each other on a level few did due to sharing a Primary Element, but their Secondary ones Balanced the other out. Water could put out Fire when it was outta Control, or be taken into the atmosphere to fuel Weather patterns by that warmer Element. Fire could gently heat Water to help it support Life, or it could boil it till it evaporated and became Clouds high overhead.

As they thought about what she’d told them–which was really just scratching the Surface of the basics within Paganism–even Casey couldn’t deny that the couple suited one another. They kept each other on a leash before they got too outta Control, yet set their partner free to soar on the Winds in a metaphorical sense. Both could help their partner Grow in various ways, or they could turn on the other in ways many couldn’t Begin to imagine, let alone ever really thought about. None of them’d say that Paganism was the right fit for them, _per sé,_ but they couldn’t really blame the young bassist for looking into it, if he thought it might be for him. If it brought him that much more Comfort and Stability when his band was all but falling apart at the seams, they were more than willing to encourage his willfulnessta learn more.

If any of them–even his young girlfriend–had known just how badly that band was gonna fall apart in just a couple months’ Time, they’d have encouraged him to leave it while he was still ahead on top of it.


	13. Twelve

_September, 1991_

The next couple months seemed to fly by at twice the speed of Light and Sound combined, yet drag on like molasses in Wintertime. Hardly anyone’d heard from CC since that last show in Mears, Michigan on July seventh, so most of the Time, even their manager wondered if he was dead. It hardly woulda been surprising to send the copsta his place for a welfare check, only for him to be found somewhere in his house, bloated and already turning Colors ’cuz he’d been dead for so long.

Bobby turned his focus inward the way Pagans were said to do as the Winter months approached, toward hearth, home, and his family. Zep was still thriving, now only a couple weeks or so from turning nine months old, and he couldn’t have possibly been happier about that. The lil booger was almost constantly using his fingers as teething toys, if he didn’t give him an actual, frozen teething ring or one of his lil teething biscuits. And Gods only knew he’d used his eye for target practice when he was trying to change him more Times than he could count since he was put in his custody. Still, even though he’d been terrified of having to raise this lil booger into a fine young gentleman at first, he wouldn’t give him up for the World now.

One of the other biggest Changes he’d made to his Life was that–as certain in his relationship as he was–he’d popped the question to his girlfriend. Lyric’d made it pretty clear that she didn’t wanna legally wed him, which’d upset him–till she said there was a compromise they could go with. As it turned out, there was a Celtic Tradition called handfasting, which was quite literally where the phrase _tie the knot_ came from.

After it’d been explained to him, the young bassist was all for handfasting, rather than actually legally marrying his girl. It allowed them to take that next step in their relationship without tying themselves down in a way that was expensive to do in the first place and _undo_ later on, if they choseta divorce. Going this route, he could prove to her that he was in it for the long haul without pushing either of them outside their Comfort zones. That being said, that was exactly why they’d thrown together a small, intimate ceremony for July thirtieth, which allowed them to _really_ celebrate during the Sabbat of _Lughnasadh_ the next Day.

It was on the afternoon of September fifth, though, that he found himself incredibly nervous–more so than Poison’s first show as a signed band on the _Look What the Cat Dragged In_ tour. He and Rikki’d both shown up more than early enough to get ready for their all-important performance on the MTV _VMAs,_ yet still have Time to just relax beforehand. Bret’d shown up half-drunk, but sober enough to get through the show without fuckin’ up _too_ royally–like the Time Bobby’d to be picked up and carried offstage by his tech that was immortalized in the video for _Every Rose_. Now they were waiting on their lead guitarist, who still had yet to show up, and he was getting a really bad feeling about that. He couldn’t explain why, other than that Intuition of a Water Witch of his was acting up, but he’d the feeling tonight wasn’t gonna End well at all.

* * *

_“Ya sum-bitch!”_

Before anyone could take a breath or blink, Bret’s fist was slamming into the side of CC’s face backstage after their performance a few hours later. The shortest blonde–who’d since dyed his hair a shade of pink so hot, it made their eyeballs throb to look at it–had finally shown up with just barely enough Time to get ready. However, the trouble didn’t stop there, not by a long shot–if anything, it just kept getting worse as the Night wore on, but they hadn’t expected it to come to this.

Rikki jumped in with their manager and several of the backstage crew to separate the brawling band members, completely uncaring of whether he took a few blows, himself or not. Bobby’s attention was on Casey–who’d since moved out West with her daughter and brought her to see the show–and his young family. He managed to put himself between the women, who were holding their respective baby, and the brawling pair so _he’d_ take any blows that accidentally came their way. Poor Cindy Crawford–who was also backstage tonight–wasn’t quite so lucky since she almost took one of the blows that were flying wildly. It was just a completely insane and Chaotic moment for everyone, and few saw the fight-Ender that was hurtling straight toward them.

“That’s enough, y’all!” Lyric managed to hand Zep to his daddy, then land a kidney-shot to each of the brawling men that sent them straight to their knees as she snapped at them.

Both howled and reached around themselvesta grab the spots she’d socked, everyone else’s eyes widening as they watched.

“I don’t give a fuck _what_ y’all do now–but y’all better not lemme catch y’all fighting like this again,” she snapped, looking almost like the devil incarnate as they peered up at her through their wild hair.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” the young bassist said, gently grabbing her shoulder. “Let’s just get outta here and back home, ’cuz I don’t think this is gonna End here.”

“That concerned with your girl, huh?” Bret snarled as he pushed himself to his feet, clearly still in the mood to fight.

“Considering she’s now my _wife,_ hell yeah, I’m concerned,” he growled.

That sudden announcement shocked even the drummer, who hadn’t known about their handfasting any more than the others or Howie had.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ma take a baby home and put him to bed, then take Comfort in the softness and Stability of said _wife,”_ Bobby told them. “I bid _adieu_ to ya idiots.”

Taking a closer look as he reached up with both handsta shove his hair back outta his face, the trio of blondes realized they _hadn’t_ been seeing things earlier. Unlike a couple months ago, there really _was_ a ring on each hand–one on his left ring finger that looked like a bunch of knots turned right-side-up and upside-down, and one on his right middle finger that looked like a pair of hands holding a heart that was topped by a Crown. A second look at Lyric’s hands revealed identical rings on the same fingers, what was obviously an engagement ring joining the one full of knots. It looked like a pair of Crescent Moons on either side of the Central Stone–which was obviously Amethyst–what looked like the Sun’s rays surrounding that Central Stone. Flanking each side of the band outside the Crescent Moons were three smaller Stones, which looked like Black Diamonds or something to them.

But not even Rikki got the chanceta ask him about their choice in rings before he took off like the Hounds of Hell were nipping at his ankles–or trying to take a chunk outta his ass. The young woman who was now apparently his wife headed off at his side as he Comforted his infant son, who was still whimpering in Fear at what he’d witnessed. Even Casey took off behind them with a disdainful sniff, quick to Comfort her own baby as she followed them back to his car. All three of the blondes knew without a doubt they prolly wouldn’t be hearing from him for a while, no matter what turn the Future took now, no questions asked.

The next Morn, Bobby woke to the Sound of the phone on his nightstand ringing, which made him groan as he reached behind him sleepily. Blindly knocking the receiver outta its cradle, he managed to find the button to disconnect the call before he even heard a muffled voice followed by the dial tone. He didn’t wanna be bothered right now, considering it’d taken him till easily the Witching Hour to fall asleep, and he was pretty sure his young wife felt the same way–but with even more reasons than he did.

Lyric grumbled as she rolled over to face him, her left leg draping over his waist and her heel pressing into the small of his back. He wasn’t sure if she pulled herself closer to him, or if she was pulling him closer to her, but he _was_ sure of one thing–he was quickly pressed against her tighter than before. The young bassist was more than content with that as he tightened the arm wrapped around her and readjusted his head on his pillow. A soft sigh followed by a content hum drifted from his lips, which found their way to her forehead as sleep quickly overcame him and dragged him back to the Land of Dreams again.

What felt like an all-too-short period of Time later, he woke again to the Sound of masculine voices coming up the stairs. From what lil he could make out, there were at least two that were pretty much arguing with each other as they came upstairs. He couldn’t help a muffled groan as he realized who it’d to be, ’cuz he really didn’t wanna talk to them right now–not after last Night.

“Bobby, get up!”

Growling as the covers were ripped off to reveal the nudity of himself and his wife–who shrieked in surprise–Bobby shoved himself upright and snatched their covers back. “What don’t y’all idiots not understand about me not actually answering the phone means I don’t wanna talk right now?”

“Too bad,” Bret snapped. “’Cuz this is important band business.”

“I’m wring your fuckin’ neck and throw ya off the balcony, Michaels,” he snarled.

“Bobby, settle down,” Rikki said, stepping between them so he was turned to afford the young woman her privacy. “He coulda said so a lil better, but he’s right.”

The young bassist cut off the shorter blonde when he made to say something else. “Out my room, asshats! I’m at least taking a piss, getting dressed, and getting coffee before I do _anything_ band-related, including discussing anything!”

“Fair enough,” the taller blonde said. He threw his hands up in surrender before herding their other friend out. “C’mon, before he makes good on his threat just for seeing Lyric nekkid.”

Bobby grumbled as he tossed the covers off himself once he heard the double doors latch behind them. “I swear, your hormones’re seriously getting to me since I don’t ever behave like that.”

“Sure ya do, if you’re rudely awakened,” his wife giggled, gently rubbing her belly as she finally sat up beside him. “But _you’re_ the one who _still_ hasn’t figured out how to use a rubber correctly.”

“I did so use it right the Night we handfasted!” the young bassist retorted with a laugh. “Not my fault that one was faulty, too!”

“At leastcha stuck your dick in the _good_ variety of crazy this Time, though,” Lyric said, unable to help her grin.

“Well, c’mon before those idiots come back–or I stick my dick in it again,” he chuckled. “Whichever of those happens first since it’s a bit of a toss-up right now.”

Still giggling as she crawled outta their bed, the young woman raised her arms over her head as she rose on tiptoe, her back arched as she stretched. Bobby couldn’t help enjoying the view he was afforded while it lasted, the sight of her breasts lifted so beautifully quite the turn-on for him. However, his wife apparently wasn’t gonna let him get away with anything right now–prolly ’cuz of having two idiots in the house that clearly didn’t know the meaning of knocking. Well, maybe he should amend that to _one_ idiot who didn’t, ’cuz it seemed that Rikki hadn’t actually wanted to barge in on them like that.

Once they were both dressed and had taken their Morn piss, the couple headed outta the master suite with the Intent of nabbing Zep from his crib. From the Sounds of adult laughter and infantile giggling coming from downstairs, though, one of the others’d apparently beaten them to that. Most likely the baby’d been whimpering when they left the master suite, no doubt scared by the shorter blonde’s yelling.

Down in the kitchen, they found said baby giggling up a Storm from his high chair, the drummer laughing and making silly faces at him as he threw together breakfast for the lil guy. Bret sat at the table in the breakfast nook, a proverbial Thunder Cloud on his face, which couldn’t possibly mean anything good. Rolling his eyes, the young bassist got to work on his coffee, having meant what he’d said upstairs since he wasn’t nearly awake enough to deal with any bullshit yet.

Luckily, all it took to keep the vocalist quiet for the moment was one sharp look from Lyric, who held her fist up as a reminder of the Night previous. He momentarily blanched, his hand heading straight for his right side since that and part of his back _still_ hurt from that kidney-shot she’d given him. No doubt that was exactly why she’d chosen that area, aside from the fact that she didn’t have a clear shot to his nuts, what with him facing CC at the Time. It’d certainly stopped both of them in their tracks, just like she’d Intended when nobody else could seem to separate them for more than a millisecond. That was prolly what scared him worse than anything–she was far more violent than she let on when she wanted to be.

“Now, what in the hell warrants barging into my bedroom like that just ’cuz it was too early to answer the damn phone?” Bobby snapped after sipping his mug.

“CC’s done,” the shorter blonde announced. “As in, I’m not putting up with his shit anymore, he’s _fired,_ done.”

“You’ve _gotta_ be fuckin’ kidding me,” he groaned. “And just who made _this_ decision?”

“That’d be _him_ since he refusesta go within a football field of C again,” Rikki dead-panned, shooting their vocalist a bemused look.

“Don’t gimme that look– _you’re_ sick of the constant drugging, too!” he growled at his blonde counterpart.

“Yeah, and? I toldja, getting him help and _all_ of us going to some kinda band counseling’d prolly work better than firing him,” the drummer retorted. “But _noooo,_ you’re so insistent that he be outed, ya didn’t even wanna talk to Bobby and get _his_ opinion before ya just did it!”

“We’ll be better off with a new guitarist!” Bret insisted.

The pair continued bickering back and forth till Lyric stuck two fingers in her mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle. “Knock it off, both of y’all, or I’m making y’all my next target when I puke!”

Both turned wide blue eyes on her, quickly noticing that she _did_ look a bit green around the gills, so to speak.

“Deep breaths, sweetheart,” Bobby crooned, gently rubbing her back. “’Cuz ya know hearing and seeing ya puke’s gonna set _me_ off, too.”

“What the–” Rikki looked momentarily confused before his eyes widened again. “Is she…?”

“About a month,” he answered, nodding. “Guess we got a lil carried away on our honeymoon last month, as it were.”

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ shitting me!” It was the vocalist who exploded with almost the same thing he’d said just minutes ago. “Couldja have _picked_ a worse Time to be getting your dick wet and spawning _again?”_

“If you’re gonna act like that, get outta my house,” the young bassist snarled. “I didn’t ask ya to keep picking fights with CC, nor come here and drag me outta bed when I didn’t get to sleep till after three in the Morn ’cuz you’re being an idiotic drama queen.”

His jaw dropped in shock since his brunette friend almost never talked to anyone like this.

“’Cuz I’m not stupid, Bret–I _know_ ya called out the wrong song to throw him off on purpose,” Bobby said. “Ya knew we were supposed to be doing _Unskinny Bop,_ as much as Lyric hates it, butcha still called out _Talk Dirty to Me.”_

“Ya know, I was thinking the same thing,” Rikki admitted. “I just didn’t wanna say it in case I was wrong ’cuz last Night was so crazy.”

He simply looked up at the taller blonde and told him that he’d gotten the feeling something was gonna go wrong long before the show ever started. At first, he couldn’t explain where that feeling’d come from, but looking back on it, he was sure it was his Intuition talking to him. Water Witches were reputed to have the strongest Intuitions of all, and even if it was his _Secondary_ Element that was Water, that no doubt still rang true for him as much as any other Water Witch.

Turning his attention back to Bret, he decided to make something abundantly clear in a way that couldn’t possibly fly right over his head. Mincing no words, the young bassist said that they’d till New Year’s to find a new guitarist, or he was quitting the band, himself and moving back to Florida. He’d his wife, his son, and an unborn child to worry about, and that left no Time for petty shit amongst his band mates.

Both blondes blanched at the Thought of something they’d put so many Years of blood, sweat, and tears into falling apart completely like that, but he wasn’t kidding. Feeling the effects of his wife’s pregnancy in the form of mild nausea and some serious mood swings wasn’t helping him, and he just wasn’t willing to deal with their shit. If cashing in his chips by quitting the band was what it took to get some Peace and quiet, not to mention raise his kids like any other kids, he was more than willing to do it. He just hoped these two–especially the vocalist–took him seriously since being the baby of the band often backfired on him ’cuz no one wanted to take the young seriously.

With that said, Bobby focused on feeding Zep, who was whining hungrily and smacking the tray of his high chair in a demand for food. He didn’t know exactly where their band was gonna go from here, and he wasn’t too sure he cared, what with other things on his list that now took priority. Two Years ago, he was all for putting up the necessary fight to keep this band together, just like he’d been at the very Beginning. But now, with a young family that depended on him–well, he needed to be given something to believe in again, ’cuz at the moment, this band wasn’t it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I've pretty much run outta ideas for this story–but that ain't stopping me from plowing ahead with it, anywhore, just a lil differently than originally planned! As soon as I opened my eyes this Morn/afternoon, I'd an idea in mind that's better suited to a sequel, so that's what I'ma do. It'll be a bit before anything goes live for that, 'cuz there's a couple things I've to find after I eat and take care of dishes.
> 
> In the meantime, here's pictures of the rings I tried to describe in this chapter. I think I did pretty well on the handfasting bands and promise rings, but not so much on the engagement ring since it's a weird design. Y'all be the judge, but I personally think they fit this eccentric couple since I was getting tired of recycling the Crown-ring theme. LOL!  
> ~Firefly
> 
> Link to Triquetra Handfasting Bands–https://i.etsystatic.com/20270133/r/il/fcee32/1943206455/il_794xN.1943206455_f1zm.jpg
> 
> Link to Triple Moon Engagement Ring–https://i.etsystatic.com/6173482/r/il/6b8eb8/1992699082/il_794xN.1992699082_m344.jpg
> 
> Link to Promise/Claddagh Rings–https://i.etsystatic.com/12522669/r/il/7bef03/1219291996/il_794xN.1219291996_42qr.jpg


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